


Only You, Only Me, Only You

by annunziatina



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom Bruce Banner, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Multiple, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug & Alcohol Use, Sub Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 104,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annunziatina/pseuds/annunziatina
Summary: Tony has been getting kinda used to having people around.  He’s become accustomed to Nat and Clint, to Thor and Steve, to Bruce... to sharing meals and laughter, in and around his home.When the dust settles after Loki's defeat, however, it looks like their time as a Team is coming to its end.  Thor announces, "Loki shall return to Asgard," and Tony's new normal feels like it's slipping away.But then an unexpected rampage leads the Avengers to use Bruce's last-resort formula on Hulk as a first line of defense, and Tony witnesses the team fracture in worse ways than he imagined.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 90
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/gifts).



> Special thanks to my dear friend Mythra for her beta. Any remaining errors are here because I didn't listen to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Bruce

**⁂** **  
** **TONY**

"I received word from my father. Loki shall return to Asgard to answer for his crimes." 

Tony knows what this means. Thor will stick it out the week, of course; hang around until Cap’s birthday. But then… sayonara. 

Tony looks up from his plate to stare at the others. Just to stare. This could be one of their last meals together. It’s all going to change, and just when he’s been getting used to the way things were.

Tony has been getting used to Barton and Natasha's easy closeness, the way they drape themselves over each other when lounging in the common areas. The way it means nothing romantic, holds nothing sexual. Their need to touch based on a history of shared experience - a familial bond Tony thinks he’s beginning to understand. 

Tony has been getting used to Thor's booming laugh and too-strong claps on the back. Pats that send him stumbling a few steps forward - every time - no matter how prepared Tony thinks he is for what's coming. 

He has been getting used to Steve. The legend he'd worshipped and hated as a child for all the attention and praise the ‘dead’ man got from the father who was supposed to love Tony best. The man whom Tony worshipped and hated as an adult, but who remained a friend - at times more and at times less. Even Steve's optimism and encouragement; his holier-than-thou yet humbler-than-any act that drips with sincerity; his brilliant mind for strategy… Tony has been getting used to those parts of Steve, too.

Tony has been getting used to sharing space with Bruce. The labs that have always been Tony’s sanctuary and his places of self-administered torture. Rooms of discovery and invention. Rooms where he pushes himself too far for too long in order to get an inch closer to something he can call progress. Rooms where no one understands - _understood_ \- how important it is to work through a project to its completion before doing something as ridiculous as taking a break to eat or sleep. 

The labs feel different with Bruce milling about. Tony doesn't get by on protein bars and energy drinks anymore. There’s always half a sandwich nearby or a thermos of soup or a pot of fresh coffee on the counter. With Bruce, Tony can talk a mile a minute about science and technology and medicine and their carbon footprint without having to backtrack, dumb it down, slow himself down, or explain away his concerns about the world. 

Tony was even getting used to regular visits with SHIELD's prick of a pharmacist. After all, the vaccines meant he could safely work and train alongside Bruce. If the cost of his friend's peace of mind was only a monthly needle-stick and a few condescending words, it was worth the sting.

Tony has been getting kinda used to having people around. He’s become accustomed to having people - these people, sans pharmacist - his people, with whom he shares meals and laughter, in and around his home. But Thor announces, "Loki shall return to Asgard," and all that _normal_ feels like it's being ripped out from under him.

Tony pushes himself up from the table.

"Tony?"

It's Natasha with a voice of thinly veiled concern. And of course it is. Of course she can see the disappointment he’s trying so desperately to swallow with his last mouthful of wine. She spares a look at Barton, and Tony knows the sharpshooter has seen him, too. 

Tony grips his goblet tight and clears his plate. If he's holding something, maybe nobody - not even the pair of superspies - will see his hands are shaking at the thought of being left alone.

  
  


**⁂  
** **BRUCE**

In the lab, Tony is bent over his workbench, fiddling with mechanics so small they look tiny even through the magnifying glass. Bruce watches him work in glances stolen between his own measurements and recordings. He listens intently for clues between the words Tony rambles. 

Since Bruce walked in to find Tony explaining the new functions of Black Widow's bracelets to his bots, Tony has barely stopped talking to take a breath. And still, Bruce doesn’t know the cause of Tony’s sudden change in mood from yesterday to today.

Bruce takes a sip from his water and thinks Tony must be parched by now. He extends the thermos to him, taps his shoulder with it before placing it on the table at Tony’s elbow. When Tony picks it up with a question in his eyes, Bruce gives him a nod. Tony takes a long gulp, holding his gaze as if seeking permission to drink. 

The temptation to watch Tony’s throat work as he swallows is a temptation that tugs at Bruce’s center and warms him low in his belly, but Tony hasn’t looked over at Bruce in what feels like hours. He won’t give up the chance to read his expression so quickly. 

Tony’s first swallow of water is followed by another until the last drop is gone and Bruce doesn’t mind one bit. He smiles as his bottle is returned to him and compliments Tony’s work before walking to the sink for a refill.

At the kitchenette Bruce fills his thermos and dumps the remnants of Tony's last pot of coffee down the drain. It's been sitting on the hot plate so long there's a brown ring cooked onto the glass. 

He should tell Tony to clean it himself, but Tony’s already given him so much. A second chance with perks: a roof over his head, a job, a purpose. Not a day goes by without Bruce wishing he could repay Tony’s generosity, wishing he could take care of Tony as well as he strives to care for everyone else. Washing a dish - that’s the least Bruce could do.

Bruce's hands are deep in suds and hot water when the timer on his desk goes off. 

"Can you get that?" Bruce calls over his shoulder. 

Behind his back, Tony calls out a quick, "Yup," and slams his palm down on the old egg timer just as he's done a dozen times before.

"Shut the gas and get the crucible off that burner to cool, will you? I'll be right over." Bruce continues to scrub, knowing it will only take a minute to finish up. The powder in the crucible needs time over dry ice before the next step anyway. 

When the pot is clean, Bruce dries it. Then he's far enough into the routine that he may as well wash out the filter, scoop fresh grinds, add water to the machine, and set the coffee maker to percolate. 

With the steam of Dark Roast finally filling the air, Bruce wipes down the counter and reaches for his bottle of water. It's only then that he notices the lab has fallen still, quiet. 

Oh, AC/DC is still pouring from the speakers overhead and machinery continues its ever-present hum in the background. But the room is different. Tony is silent. 

Bruce turns back to his workstation and isn’t sure what to make of what he sees. His head cocks left in curiosity as Tony’s lingering presence at the burners starts to make sense. Tony’s waiting to be told what to do next. 

_Did I cause this..._ Bruce wonders, _this quiet in a man whose excitability has otherwise seemed irrepressible?_

Bruce’s heart does a little flip when Tony’s wide eyes look up in question. The pair of tongs in his hand holds the crucible steady as he blinks at Bruce for further instruction. 

The sight of Tony patiently standing there is enough to stir up fluttery feelings in Bruce’s core. But Tony doesn’t seem flustered at all. His expression is open. His breathing is calm. He’s just watching. And waiting. 

Nevertheless, Bruce isn’t sure if he should take delight in something so opposite of Tony’s typical bouncing chatter. In a few long strides, perhaps made too quickly due to the disparity between the Tony he knows and the Tony he sees, Bruce crosses the distance to the man and takes the tongs from his hand. 

Tony’s arms fall to his sides and his lips part with something that sounds like a “sorry.”

Bruce shakes his head with his eyes narrowed on the crucible. He doesn’t need an apology, but he needs to act now. 

How much time had he wasted just staring?

“We can just-” Bruce sets the small ceramic pot atop its stand in the bowl of dry ice. He lifts his eyes to Tony in time to watch him take a small step backwards - an apologetic retreat. 

“There is good,” Bruce says. Though he was speaking of the placement of the crucible, Tony stops in his tracks. “It needs to cool rather quickly, you see,” Bruce explains, choosing not to comment on Tony’s behavior. “Or else, I have to start over.” He suspects that the powder has sat too long in heat already. He can’t lose himself in daydreams, reading more into his friend’s actions than is there.

After a minute of observing the crucible, it’s clear the powder will not change from grey to blue. It’ll take Bruce an hour to prepare another, but the failure of the experiment is his own. “Dammit,” he mutters, more to himself than to Tony. Bruce knows he should have made his instructions more clear. He shouldn’t have dawdled by the sink. 

If only Tony hadn’t taken Bruce so literally, then he could have anticipated the next step and moved forward with it himself. Bruce rubs at the bridge of his nose as he considers the way Tony waited without saying a word. He considers the way Tony stands, now, quiet and still as he watches Bruce. 

Bruce isn’t sure if he’s ever witnessed Tony acting this way. Quiet. And still. The nervous chatter that filled their evening is gone, along with the buzz of anxiety that had surrounded Tony like a cloud of static. 

Bruce is glad for whatever part he had in helping Tony find some peace, but he doesn't want to keep the engineer from his work too long. Doing that will likely stir up his anxieties again. “You can go back to what you were doing before,” he says permissively.

Tony gives a short nod and slips away. Suddenly, they’re back at their respective desks, working on separate projects, and Bruce is wondering when Tony will go back to speaking again. He allows himself the hope that when Tony does break his silence his thoughts will be focused and free of the twitchy tension they carried before.

“So, this balm for Widow, she asked for it?”

There’s an unnatural pause before Tony answers and Bruce thinks, _This hasn't been the silence of peace._

He chastises himself. He’d made a mistake with Tony, misread him. A list of errors run through Bruce's mind. He’d stepped too quickly into Tony’s space to retrieve the crucible. His tone was too rough. His expression was too hard. 

What if Tony thinks he has done something wrong? What if he thinks Bruce is angry he hadn’t put the crucible on ice in time? What if, instead of helping Tony find a place of calm, Bruce has pushed him to withdraw?

Bruce knows he has to be more careful than others. He has to be mindful of the space he takes up, the way he carries himself, the tone and volume of his voice, the expression he holds even at rest. He has to watch what he’s doing, because everyone else is watching him.

Eventually, however, Tony answers Bruce's question. He lifts a hand to his right and, with a gesture like a magician, conjures up a hologram of Widow’s bracelets’ new specs. “Did she… No, no, she um… Well... she has this mission coming up.” 

What starts as stammering becomes more confident as Tony goes on. Bruce nods as he follows along. “You know how she gets tossed into dark closets and bedrooms with so many of her targets. The tasers are fine as long as she’s in her armor. And the aerosol is fine if she can get to a window. But that balm I asked you to work on…”

Bruce understands, “It’ll knock them out without a risk to her.”

“That’s the plan.”

“But she didn’t ask for it?” Bruce knows she hasn’t. None of them ever have to ask for what they need, none of them know what they want until Tony tells them - gives it to them. Bruce has noticed that: Tony taking it upon himself to make sure the team has the right equipment to keep them safe. From their new under armor to Clint’s hearing aids to the improvements on the Quinjet’s weapons systems, Tony is always working on something. He’s always taking care of someone.

“I just want her to be safe.”

Bruce squints at the schematics for Black Widow’s bracelets and smiles at the streamlined beauty of the thing. “She will be.” He’s still staring into the hologram when he spots Tony shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh and a soft smile curling the corner of his mouth.

Bruce hums at the sight, low and deep. Too quiet for Tony to hear but thick enough to feel a rumble in his own chest. Bruce places a hand over the feeling. 

“What time is it?” Bruce asks.

And Tony, who never seems to know, passes along the query to JARVIS. 

“The time is 7:42PM, Sir.”

Bruce nods. Almost 8; that feels right. Not that he would ever doubt the accuracy of the AI; it’s one of Tony’s programs, after all. “I have to attend to something.”

“Your meditation.”

Bruce’s eyes flick up to Tony and he can’t quite hide his surprise at seeing Tony’s eyes staring back at him. “Yes.” Bruce hadn’t realized anyone paid attention. Not to his schedule. Clint and Natasha probably knew, but that was more out of their conditioning rather than intentionally keeping score.

“I’m almost done here,” Tony says. “I’ll meet you at a quarter to ten. We can scrounge up some grub or whatever.”

Perhaps Bruce appears caught off guard by the invitation, because Tony amends, “If you want.” But Tony’s requests for company are never unwelcome; he’s never an inconvenience. Bruce only wishes he could say the same for his own company.

The vibration behind Bruce’s ribs grows against the press of his palm. “A quarter to ten. I’ll meet you at the penthouse.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce  
> Tony

**⁂  
BRUCE**

Bruce's eyes snap open at the sound of glass crashing against metal. Something rolls within him, unsettled by the disturbance. He takes to the room across the hall with long strides. It isn't the first time a crash from Tony's workshop has pulled Bruce out of a meditation, but no other time has Bruce felt so close to… 

But, no. Bruce is deluding himself into thinking such a breakthrough could be reached. That _The Other Guy_ could be reached. The whole thing is a fool's gamble anyhow. Just a shot in the dark. There’s a duality with Hulk, sure, a split. But there’s no middle ground. There’s no shared consciousness. And there never will be.

The glass walls of the lab are dark, but the soundproof feature has been disabled. 

“...fucking tried to poison me?” Tony’s shouts are muffled by the walls, but his words are clear to Bruce’s ears.

Bruce tries the security pad and lifts his voice in a gruff, "Let me in." When there’s another crash and no answer to the door, Bruce hits the wall with his palm. “JARVIS?”

The AI complies with a security override, but without a verbal response.

Bruce watches as Steve deflects a wrench flung his way by a red-faced, racoon-eyed Tony. 

“Asshole,” Tony hisses. “Get out!” The ricochet flies back at Tony, landing under the desk among a pile of tools and broken glass.

He’s already picked up the wrench and taken aim again when he sees Bruce walking in from the hallway. 

Bruce’s steps are heavier than they should be. There’s weight to them that Bruce’s frame shouldn’t carry but it somehow does. When he stands in the middle of the room, his presence looms so much larger than his size. 

“What’s going on?” Bruce’s voice is even and calm, but beneath it, as ever, there’s a storm. Tony watches Bruce, eyes wide and wild. 

“He fucking tried to poison me.” Tony releases the wrench with an overhand throw Clint taught him during training. The tool doesn’t quite balance like a knife, but it hits Steve square in the chest all the same. Not that the wrench does any damage.

_Poison?_ Bruce doesn't want to believe it. Tony's being dramatic. Iron Man would do more than toss wrenches at Steve if such an accusation held water.

"It wasn’t poison, Tony.” Steve ducks the trajectory of a hammer next, and Bruce’s eyes narrow at the supersoldier. “It was tea,” Steve insists, his voice raising an octave under Bruce’s attention. 

“It was a sedative,” Tony counters. 

And for all the wishing Bruce does regarding people trusting his control over his anger, Steve’s current cowering is well within his right. Bruce has dropped his façade. He knows the glare set into the lines of his face mirror those of the sleeping giant within him. He can hear the hum he’s been entertaining in his chest, drawing upon during his meditations. And in this moment, it’s more like a growl than a purr. 

“It was chamomile.”

Bruce huffs at Steve’s response. Not poison, no. But it goes to show that not even Tony’s… whatever Steve is... (friend, lover, companion?) can respect the fact that ‘not being able to fall asleep’ isn’t what keeps Tony working through the night. 

"Get the hell out." Tony's demand isn’t really heated anymore, it’s downgraded into something like a distracted 'shoo' at a nuisance. But Bruce can see the exasperation in his expression and the sleep-deprivation in his eyes. 

Bruce takes a look around the lab. With everything in disarray, Bruce hates to think of the panic that will set in once Tony’s mind is clear enough to see his meticulous order has been compromised. 

Bruce whistles at the pair of bots standing idly in the corner. “Hey, U. DUM-E. This place is a mess.”

Funny that. Up until recently, Bruce hadn’t figured Tony was one who valued the discipline it takes to keep one’s workspace tidy and organized. But starting a few weeks ago, something changed.

"Sleepy Time, chamomile bullshit!” Tony gripes. “How am I supposed to get any work done when he’s trying to put me to sleep? There’s no time! They’re all leaving and there’s no time to-" 

Tony drags a hand over his face with every intention of getting straight back to his work. But when his hand drops away from his eyes, he grabs a screwdriver from his bench and wields it like a dagger at Steve. "What are you still doing here?"

Steve sputters and gestures. "I… Dr. Banner's blocking my way."

Tony smirks and releases the screwdriver from his hand. It clatters to the pile at his feet. "At ease, Brucie. Steve was just leaving."

Bruce steps aside to let Steve past, waiting until the door closes behind him before taking a closer look at the broken glass beneath Tony’s feet. “We should get that cleaned up.”

With a high whistle and a few snaps of his fingers, Tony calls over DUM-E to do the dirty work for them.

“That’s not really what I meant.”

**⁂** **  
** **TONY**

Upon closer inspection, Tony notices the tear in his slacks, dark with blood. 

Bruce knows where the med kit is. Of course he does. Safety precautions; they’re of the utmost importance to Bruce no matter what anyone is doing. It’s part of the reason his willingness to change into Hulk is so magnificent. 

Tony remembers the news reports from years ago, back when Hulk appeared to rampage blindly -- a cannonball, once fired, destined to destroy what was in his path. That’s not the Hulk Tony knows now. The control Bruce has over him takes Tony’s breath away.

“Does that hurt?” Bruce asks and Tony looks down to see his pant leg folded up and hydrogen peroxide foaming over the wound.

Now that he’s paying attention to it, Tony can feel the sting. But it’s alright. Bruce’s hand grips his calf tight enough that the pressure gives him something else to focus on. 

As Bruce trades the peroxide for an antiseptic spray and medical tape, Tony offers him a weak smile of thanks. He leans back, resting his eyes for just a moment, until Bruce fixes his pants over the bandages and sets his foot back on the floor.

"When's the last time you slept?" Bruce speaks curiously, but there’s no accusation there. 

"Oh. Heh. That'd be…” Tony rubs his eyes as he accepts Bruce’s hand to hoist him to his feet. “What year is it?"

Bruce’s response is a nod as he makes his way around the holographic display. 

"Look, if you're gonna tell me to get some rest, I just… can't. Ok? I have to get this done before I lose it again. I had it working. I fucking had it. But I melted the damn motherboard when Steve came in here bitching about my schedule and… it doesn't help anything alright?"

"What are you working on?"

"It's this… an upgrade for Pepper's armor. I know she'll never use it unless she absolutely has to, but I feel like if I don't finish it-"

"How can I help?"

"What?" There’s shock in Tony’s voice, a diffident pause in his rush to work.

"You'll sleep once it's completed, yes?"

"Sure. Yeah. When fucking pigs fly, at this rate. Yeah."

"So, let me help."

Tony's gaze on Bruce is wary, cautious, like he's sure it's some kind of trick. "You're not going to drag me to bed?" 

He shouldn’t have phrased it like that. Now Tony’s thinking of Bruce’s weight on top of him and a mattress beneath him - both images incredibly tempting and immeasurably unhelpful.

Bruce takes a breath and steps toward the hologram to have a closer look. "May I?"

Tony nods and Bruce dips his hands into the shimmering display. He explodes the blueprint and isolates the motherboard to study its layout, then walks over to the 3-D printer to wait for the new piece. 

“I can do it,” Tony says as Bruce’s eyes flick between the print bed and the display. 

"Your hands are shaky from the caffeine and exhaustion. Let me take it from here."

"But, Bruce, I can-"

"I know you can.” Bruce’s gaze on him is so full of confidence that it leaves Tony floored. “But I can't do _that._ " 

On Tony’s screen, lines of code blink in protest at their placement and structure. Bruce hates programming, but he’s said Tony codes like he’s composing a symphony. The reminder gives Tony a little boost he didn’t even know he needed.

"Oh. Ok." Still, Tony checks on Bruce a dozen times to make sure he isn't a hallucination. 

By the time the upgrade is complete, Tony finally feels like he is able to breathe again. 

He extends his hand to Bruce, "Thanks. I'm sorry if I woke you before."

"No apology necessary," Bruce smiles. "I was awake." 

Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets as Bruce turns toward the door. He thinks about the empty floors of the tower, the Avengers suites he drew up for teammates who rejected his invitations. He understands they have their own lives, but he had liked the idea, the feeling, of having a family. 

Steve’s suite would come with an art studio. Nat’s with a library. Barton’s with an atrium. And Thor’s with its own training room. But Bruce’s floor plans include two full apartments and a lab.

Bruce is the only one who hadn't turned him down; he’s the only one Tony hasn't asked yet. 

"There's a file you could take a look at, when you get a chance,” Tony says before Bruce is gone.

"Oh?"

"It's, um, it's nothing really.” Tony wishes his pockets were deep enough that they could swallow him up. “Just an idea I've been kicking around."

Bruce has his one hand on the doorjamb and the other rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Send it over to me. I'll look it over in the morning. There's something I need to get back to."

"Right. I caused a scene and you had to rescue me from chamomile."

"Tony." Bruce says his name like it’s a pledge. "Send me the file. I'll let you know what I think in the morning."

Tony looks up at the deeper tone of Bruce's voice and breathes. "Thanks again."

"It was my pleasure. What you've done for Pepper. The suit and the extra precautions. The upgrade for Nat. It's good work."

"I impress myself sometimes."

Bruce nods like Tony's missing the point. "We’ll see you in the morning."

_We?_ Tony needs a minute to catch up before he remembers the date. Tomorrow is The Fourth of July. He checks his watch. _Today_ is The Fourth. 

The Avengers will be in attendance at the parade through Midtown. Hulk will be there. 

Tony tries not to make a big deal of it - the first time the world will see Hulk since Loki’s attack - but he can’t help getting excited. He’s missed his friend, too. “Stash me some pancakes, will ya?”

“Get to breakfast on time and you won’t get stuck with burnt silver dollars.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Bruce  
> Tony  
> Hulk!

**⁂** **  
****TONY**

Bruce leaves the 'shop and Tony sinks into his chair. _July Fourth._

Though the Battle was won not long ago, New York is already well on its way to restoration. The people of Earth are ready to celebrate victory like they haven’t in a long time. 

Words like _hope_ and _safe_ dapple conversations of civilians and News reporters; they have the Avengers now. 

With the band of heroes watching over them from the high tower, things are looking up. Independence Day means something tangible again. 

For Tony, it means the end of an era - no matter how brief it was. The Avengers are heading their separate ways, only to come together again against another great threat. The Director of SHIELD speculates the mere existence of their team could act as a deterrent to further attacks. 

Tony twists in a stretch. He doesn't think he'll get much sleep tonight, but he can breathe easier knowing that Pepper's suit is up and running at full capacity. 

He recalls Bruce's meticulous attention to detail as he followed Tony's diagram. Bruce is the only one who understands that Tony can't just shut down the computer and shut off his brain to sleep. Bruce is the only one who offers help instead of trying to sabotage Tony's progress.

Tony pulls up the floor plans for the Avengers suites. Bruce is the only one of the team who's gotten two. But Tony hasn’t seen Hulk since the big guy tossed Loki into the clink to await Thor's return from offworld. 

After all of the trouble Loki had caused, Odin hadn’t been quite sure he wanted to take back his adopted son. Apparently, it had taken some convincing on Thor’s part to get Odin to host the trial. 

Tony thinks that maybe if Odin had taken more time with his decision, he could have come up with a way to convince the Avengers to stay. With more time, Tony could have gotten them to see reason: living at HQ is best for everyone. 

Tony isolates Bruce’s blueprint for review, putting the design for Hulk’s rooms aside. Hulk’s apartment feels incomplete. Tony hasn’t had enough interaction with The Other Guy to really make him a home. 

But Tony sends off Bruce’s file. He thinks he understands his friend -- his wants and needs. Tony wishes Bruce was interested in learning more about his own. 

With crossed fingers for luck, Tony hopes Bruce will sincerely, carefully consider his offer.

**⁂  
BRUCE**

Taking a seated position on the balcony, Bruce closes his eyes to the sunrise and turns his focus inward. 

There's a new darkness in his mind, a depth that wasn't there weeks before. Bruce has spent the last two days trying to reach it, to explore it. There's movement in the shadows. A lumbering figure. But when Bruce calls out to the phantom, it hides. So Bruce waits. 

**⁂**

In the morning, Bruce checks his messages… sure enough, Tony has sent a file for his perusal. His jaw drops. It can't be. An apartment? And a lab. Why?

Once Loki is on Asgard, the Avengers don't need Hulk anymore. They won't have any use for Bruce. They won’t want him around. 

Bruce is neck-deep in disbelief when there's a knock on the door of his room in the guest quarters. He supposes, given his promise to tell Tony what he thinks of the file, he shouldn't be surprised to find the aforementioned man on his doorstep.

"It's morning," Tony says with a grin.

"So it is."

"Do you… did you…"

Bruce lifts an eyebrow as Tony lets himself into the apartment. “The pancakes are in the common area. Did you forget where that is? I know it’s a big building.”

"Look, I know you opened the file,” Tony starts in tentatively, but then he’s off to the races. “And if you want to redesign the whole floor that's fine. That's great. But if you don't want to stay here… I mean, you could just have a place to crash, you know? For when you're in town."

"You drew up a lab."

"Well, yeah. It’s not like I expect you to quit your day job.” 

**⁂**

Standing on the float is a bit surreal. The fact that anyone would want to celebrate him, that they’d be willing to put aside the horrors he’s caused even for one day, is baffling. But the Avengers are looking over at Bruce in expectation.

A clap on the back alerts him to Thor’s presence at his side. “On your mark, Banner.” His smile is all teeth, rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes, and Bruce’s heart breaks for him. For having to put on a show for the city despite his brother’s betrayal and the arduous road ahead for his family.

“See you on the flip side,” Tony says from Bruce’s left. The smile Bruce is met with when he turns this way, however, is open and sincere. Tony has no mind for the crowds. He’s used to them, to an extent. He can shut them out. Right now, his eyes are looking into Bruce’s with an intensity Bruce has never seen before.

“What are you-”

“I wanna see.”

“See what?”

“The moment your eyes turn green.”

Clint must have mentioned it. With his ability to hone in on the smallest details of a person, perhaps he’d seen it on the field. Or maybe it was Thor, after having witnessed transformations during training exercises. 

Tony slips Bruce’s glasses off of his face and hangs them off his own shirt collar like they belong there. And he waits.

Bruce keeps his eyes open. There’s a tearing inside of him and the crack of bones as they break, as the body repairs itself bigger, stronger. There’s pain, but only so much as he can bear. Hulk takes over before it becomes too much. Hulk takes the brunt of the transformation, the brunt of everything - it seems - physical and emotional. 

Bruce has one last look at the world before receding into the dark. All the world is a blur, all of it, except the wonder in Tony’s eyes.

**⁂** **  
****TONY**

The Avengers’ appearance in Midtown that morning was brief. Just a series of waves and handshakes before people fired up their grills. By evening, Manhattan’s air carried with it the scent of barbeque, the sounds of music and laughter, and ‘ _the spirit of freedom’._ At least, that’s how Captain Rogers has been describing the day to everyone raising their glass to him with birthday salutations. 

For Tony, the day smells a bit more like sickly sweet perfume and sangría than burgers and dogs. 

With an ice cube melting in his drink, Tony steps away from the party to a smaller, higher balcony he keeps for personal use. Barton had mentioned seeing Bruce head there after SHIELD was done patting the Team on their backs. They’d put on such a stellar performance smiling and waving at the parade, don’tcha know. 

Deputy Director Maria Hill ran point on the meeting and seemed to forget that it was Hulk, not Bruce, who had been invited to shake the mayor’s hand. Her ‘thank you’ to Bruce came across all too condescending for any of them to swallow lightly. Bruce hadn’t stuck around to see Thor and Natasha jump to his defense.

The automatic door to the balcony opens with a hushed slide along its track. Tony steps into the evening air pretending not to notice that it is so hot and humid it’s like walking into a wall.

At the farthest point of the oblong terrace, Bruce stands in a sideways lunge, bent at the waist. With one hand he reaches for his toes. With the other, he stretches toward the darkening sky. Tony can’t stop himself from thinking twisted pretzel fantasies, but they don’t last. Bruce’s proximity to the edge of the balcony makes Tony nervous even after a drink.

“I’d tell you to be careful but-”

Bruce twists out of the pose and drops to sit. It’s the movement of a gymnast, of flexibility and athleticism so often overlooked in favor of Hulk’s brute strength. Bruce’s sleeveless shirt displays his arms and shoulders. Tony’s mouth goes dry watching Bruce’s tanned muscles flex in their use. 

Yoga: it does a Banner good. 

Bruce straddles the adamantium wall that separates the safety of the roof from a very long fall. “You take more risks than anyone.” His bare foot dangles from the ledge.

Tony wets his palate with a sip from his cup before approaching. “You really think so?”

“Leave it to you to take that as a compliment.”

“Didn’t sound like an insult, coming from the nicest guy I know.”

Bruce scoffs. “Ah, so you’ll take it as constructive criticism.”

“Hmm.” If that’s how Bruce means it, Tony will consider his risks - financial, personal - but not those he takes when it comes to saving the world. Tony takes another long drink from his glass. “The crowd sure enjoyed Jolly Green at the parade.”

“He’s not an accessory.”

Tony peers over the edge of the balcony, perhaps standing too close to Bruce. A mix of the booze, the height of the Tower, and the proximity to his friend leave him light-headed. He steadies himself with a hand to the waist-high wall. 

“You act like he’s a bomb. He can be reasoned with, within reason. Plus-” Tony waggles his eyebrows suggestively “-he likes me.”

“You’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

Tony turns away at that. He hates turning away, but they’ve fought on the subject of Hulk far too often to count. Today could be different if Tony doesn’t take the bait. “Dr. Banner was missed.”

“Doubt many shared that sentiment.”

Tony shrugs and slowly faces Bruce again. He takes in the sight of the man in front of him and instead of ogling the sheen of sweat glistening in the late sun, Tony considers Bruce’s brilliance. “You’re as much a part of the team as Hulk, as any of us.”

Bruce swings his other leg toward the deck. The way he stares into Tony’s eyes makes the engineer want to shrink backwards, but he holds his ground. There are a few more ounces of liquid courage still in his cup - and more already fortifying his bloodstream, swimming through his veins.

Tony lifts his glass for a sip. 

Before he can taste orange and apple on his tongue, Bruce’s callused hand curls over his, stopping him. Tony figures it’s time for a lecture, but Bruce simply pulls the cup to his own lips and drinks the rest.

Inspecting his empty glass in surprise, Tony can’t help but notice Bruce’s tongue peek out from the corner of his mouth and disappear again. 

“You must be thirsty,” Bruce surmises, “and hungry.”

“It’s, um, a real party downstairs if you wanted to…” Tony pauses to breathe as Bruce wet his lips again. “Or we could ask waitstaff to bring something up.”

Spreading his knees to rest the cup on the wall between them, Bruce gives a short nod. 

Tony has JARVIS arrange the details. 

“The sun’s getting low.” Bruce says, turning his face to the clear sky. 

“Yeah.” Tony follows his gaze. “It’s a great view up here.” 

“Even better from where I’m sitting.” 

Tony’s heart leaps, thinking maybe Bruce’s eyes have drifted to look at him instead of the setting sun. Without that last swig of sangría, he doesn’t have it in him to check.

**⁂**

They sit close as they eat. A little table near the door and solar lights provide a gentle atmosphere. They are able to watch the sky turn from orange to a smoky grey while sitting close enough to feel the sweat beading on each other’s forearms. The sunset passes quickly but Tony and Bruce take their time with their meals. Neither, it seems, wants the night to end too soon.

When Bruce’s fork clatters to the deck, instinct drives Tony from his chair and under the table to retrieve it. He emerges at Bruce’s feet with the utensil and a smile.

  
Bruce covers Tony’s hand with his own as he takes back the fork. 

“Thank you,” Bruce says while still holding Tony’s hand and his gaze.

The night’s cool breeze makes it hard to explain away the heat rising in Tony’s core and the flush of his cheeks.

Still looking down at Tony, Bruce suggests, “You should try the mango.”

Tony’s lips part, his mind preparing a gentle refusal. But Bruce’s hand comes down with a sauced piece of grilled tofu on the end of a skewer.

Tony leans into the bite, pulling it from the kebab with his teeth. His face grows hotter as he chews and swallows. Then, he sinks back on his ankles with a breathy laugh. He drops his eyes as his hands settle flat upon his knees. “I don’t know why I-”

With the touch of his finger to Tony’s chin, Bruce tips up Tony’s face. “Did you like it?”

Unsure if he should be answering about the taste of the sauce or being fed by Bruce, Tony nods. Either way, the answer stands true.

Bruce brings Tony a second bite. 

Tony accepts a mushroom from the skewer next and wonders if it is too bold to ask Bruce to slide the food off. He wonders what it would be like to eat straight from Bruce’s hand. That request couldn’t be any bolder than Bruce assuming Tony would eat kneeling at his feet, could it?

Tony’s eyes close at the fantasy - Bruce’s fingertips pushing a sweet cube of mango-glazed tofu past his lips - and he sways forward. Bruce’s bare ankle is warm under Tony’s hand as he steadies himself. 

There is a telltale scrape of ceramic being pushed across the table. Then, a familiar voice from the door behind Tony’s chair.

“Rogers’s cake is on fire.” Barton sounds bored.

Tony rises from the ground, making a show of placing his napkin on the table as if that were the reason he had been underneath it.

“Seriously, we lit the geezer’s candles, but he’s waiting for you guys. He thinks you’ll move faster this way. Swear he’s more excited for cake and ice cream than a five year old.”

“Yeah? And what do you know about kids, Barton?”

Barton shrugs, “Nothing. Oh, and people are asking for Hulk.”

“No one cares about me?” Tony asks in a show of offense.

“Nnnope.” Barton hangs back with Tony as Bruce walks through without having said a word. “Later, Banner.”

Tony assumes the next time they’ll see him will be after Hulk has entertained their guests. “Do you want me to come with-”

The only response Bruce gives is lifting his hand like a stop sign and giving his head a firm shake ‘no’. Then he turns around again and is gone.

“Dramatic.” Barton enunciates each syllable before entertaining himself with a sigh of laughter.

But Tony isn’t laughing along. His legs have locked beneath him. His lungs burn, having forgotten how to breathe. 

He'd messed up; overstepped; misread something _. But how could one misread something so intimate as being fed, as being encouraged to kneel?_

Had he done it wrong? Did Bruce not like it? Bruce had asked Tony, but Tony hadn’t reciprocated the question. Was Bruce only playing along? Is he grateful Barton interrupted when he did?

Even as Barton offers Tony a drink, Tony thinks about Bruce’s retreating figure. 

Embarrassed and confused, Tony accepts the proffered scotch and Barton’s boisterous company. He downs that glass and another shortly after. He even takes a few bites of candle-wax-coated cake before heading into the crowd of their guests.

Flirting and laughing his way through the party, Tony mingles, but only until the alcohol wears off - and always with one eye on Hulk. 

Barton rejoins Tony where the latter has been standing at the ledge, overlooking the city. “Fireworks will be starting soon,” Barton announces with a brisk rub of his hands. 

Tony smiles at that. What with Barton’s unending enthusiasm for pyrotechnics and Tony’s ingenuity, the two had come up with some doozies sure to please.

**⁂** **  
HULK**

Explosions. Colors. Shouting. Smells of burnt meat and more explosions in the sky. Popping sounds - like gunfire in the distance - but these are close. There are sparks at his feet. Small missiles flying into the air. Children screaming. 

There are children screaming and no one is doing anything to help them. Children are running through the streets below the Tower and no one is taking them to safety. 

Hulk roars and people laugh. People scream. People cheer for Hulk to shout again. 

Hulk needs to find the others. Hulk needs to find Metal Man and Spider Lady. Hulk needs to find Thor. 

Glass shatters and rains down on Hulk’s shoulders. The floor cracks under Hulk’s lunges from the landing pad balcony into SHIELD’s control room. 

One-Eyed Man’s expression is hard as he holds up a hand. “Stop.”

Hulk is supposed to listen to this man. Inside the Tower, Hulk can’t hear the children. Can’t see them. Can’t tell if they are alright. Hulk throws his head back, beats his chest, and roars again. When he faces the stairwell, the man is still there.

“It’s alright, Hulk. We’re not going to hurt you. Why don’t you come with me?”

There’s a pull on Hulk’s gut before the tunnel vision sets in.

_No, Banner._ Hulk beats his head with his hands. _No, Banner. Not safe._ How can he get Banner to listen? Banner never listens! 

There are little people showing up in the shadows of the room. Not like puny Banner in Hulk’s head. The control room is full of angry humans with guns. 

The stairs are too slow. Too much concrete. Too many twists. 

Hulk smashes the floor and falls again and again until he’s somewhere else. Away from the guns and the angry voices.

It’s somewhere new. But new is not always safe. Hulk turns about, sweeping through the space in a defensive crouch, and stumbling backward at what he sees. 

The new room is disorienting.

Hulk is the biggest there is. The strongest there is. But this room, it makes him feel small.

Hulk smashes. Everything. The angry people could be coming. They can’t see that Hulk is small. 

Hulk crouches behind a pile of rubble, wishing he could disappear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Clint!  
> Natasha!

**⁂** **  
****TONY**

A queer sense of déjà vu casts a haze over the scene as Tony walks through Sleeping Quarters 7. Well, Tony isn’t sure the ruins he finds at the end of the hall can truly be referred to as Hulk’s sleeping quarters, but the space used to… no, would have belonged to Hulk. That is, if Tony had told anyone about it. If Hulk had been offered a chance to stay.

Rubble rolls beneath Tony’s sneakers. His ankle twists and his knee buckles, but the pain is inconsequential. 

Despite the rumble of falling beams and concrete, Tony presses on. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damage lay crumbled under his feet and all around him - not that Tony is sending anyone a bill.

“METAL MAN!” Hulk’s voice bounces off what is left of the walls. It’s so loud in the small space that Tony curls into a crouch and covers his ears.

“Inside voice, huh, Green Bean?” Tony says. 

Hulk grunts and Tony knows he understands. Tony has always believed in Hulk’s capacity to understand so much more than anyone gives him credit.

“Where are you?” In truth, it’s easy to see Hulk. How could anyone miss the eight-and-a-half-foot ball of rage and muscle huddled behind a pile of rocks and glass? But Hulk is trying to hide and Tony lets him believe he’s succeeding. “Buddy, where’d you go?”

When Hulk peeks out, Tony gives him a smile and a wave. Hulk’s face, wide-eyed and expressing hints of confusion through his anger, is gone just as quickly as it appeared.

“Hey, Big Guy. I can build you a playground better than this you know.” The flaws in Tony’s design jump out at him, not that they would have been exposed had the walls held their worth. “All these exposed wires and leaky pipes? Dangerous, comprende? I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

_Adamantium walls_ , Tony thinks. _Behind the drywall. It could still look like a home, but it’d be strong enough to confine a tantrum._

“Not hurt Hulk.”

“OK.” Tony says. “True.” Electricity wouldn’t do much to Hulk - make him angrier, make him stronger - but the wet floor beneath Tony’s feet... “What about me? A little drip, a little zap, and I’m toast. Bird Brain over there -- he’ll be Kentucky fried.” Tony nods toward the rafters where Hawkeye waits, an arrow nocked. 

Tony suppresses a scowl, in case Hulk is watching, but a surge of anger and fear burn straight through him at the sight of Hawkeye ready to strike. 

Confident in Hawkeye’s ability to read his lips, Tony speaks inaudibly. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Insurance policy,” Hawkeye’s indelicate answer comes through Tony’s earpiece. “I’d hate to be the company paying out in the event of your death. And who inherits your fortune anyway? Can I be in your Will?”

Tony scoffs over the comm. “Now’s not the time.”

Hulk cuts them off with a roar. It’s an anguished sound. “Not hurt Hulk,” the gargantuan repeats himself, louder and angrier than before. 

Tony has a hunch that what is feeding the anger - what so often does - is fear. “You think I’m going to hurt you, Big Guy?”

Tony takes a small step toward the hill of rubble that only partially obscures his view of Hulk behind it. 

Hulk’s grunts are small. The meaning of ‘indoor voice’ hasn’t flown over his head. He isn’t a mindless beast; he never was.

Tony wants to ask Hulk what happened, wants to ask him why he’s flown off the rails, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that won’t sound like an accusation. Tony’s silence goes over like a lead balloon.

All of Hulk’s attempts to temper his volume fly out the window as his fist smashes through the floor with a shout. 

_No, no, not the lab. Not Bruce’s lab._

Over the comms, Hawkeye says a phrase that makes Tony’s blood run cold. “I have a shot.” 

Tony’s spine goes rigid. “Hawkeye, stand down.”

“Not a chance, boss. He advances on you, I use the new gamma dampener. I promised the Doc.”

The realization that Bruce is the one who put such a contingency plan in place shouldn't come as such a surprise. _Safety precautions._ Bruce probably considers this a safety precaution.

A string of curses run through Tony’s head blocking out reason. “I don’t give a shit if you two made promises over a spit shake or a pinky swear; Banner is an idiot!”

Hulk’s shouts shake the building, jarring a long piece of an air shaft from the ceiling. The loose end crashes to the floor. Hawkeye dangles by the tops of his feet on a broken pipe. The archer swings precariously, smiles maniacally.

“Still got that line of sight, Hot Shot?” Tony tries for snark, but he’s nervous as Hell and seriously considers calling for his suit just to take down the cocky bastard. The only reason he doesn’t is out of fear it’ll startle Hulk into further panic-fueled rage. 

Hawkeye's response is cool confidence, leaving no room for Tony to doubt his sincerity. “Better than ever.”

“Dammit, Barton. I said stand down! I don’t care what Banner told you, we’re not using that shit on him!”

Hulk roars again and again. If not for the comms, there is no way Tony and his stubborn teammate would be able to hear each other. 

“Hulk, stop!” Tony begs.

What beams are left squeal and crack overhead. Dust rains from above in blinding sheets. Tony thanks whatever powers that be for his luck in choosing to give Hulk one of the uppermost floors of the Tower. But even one ceiling would be enough to crush an unarmored man.

“Hulk, please. You’re gonna bring this place down on top of us! No suit, see? No metal.” 

As Tony observes, helplessly, small sounds become deafeningly loud. Rubble shifts as Hulk crawls out from his hiding place. Hawkeye's bow stretches with a groan as he prepares his shot. Tony lets out a strangled cry at the realization that Hawkeye has every intention to take it. 

Why did Hulk take the risk to come out of hiding? Was it because Tony asked him to look? Did Hulk want to check if his Metal Man was telling the truth about being puny, pink, and oh-so-very squishy under the falling Tower? Did Hulk think he needed to protect him?

There is less than a second for Tony to react to Hawkeye’s attack.

Tony dives in front of Hulk, wishing he could do more. Even as the arrow grazes his left cheekbone, Tony’s only thoughts are on Hulk and Bruce and the serum. 

Ultimately the leap is only a gesture; the arrow lodges itself into Hulk’s chest just as if Tony had stood by doing nothing. But it’s a gesture of intent to which Hulk is a witness. Perhaps that is enough to maintain a token of trust between them.

Upon impact, the cartridge dispenses the serum and the goliath takes a gasping breath.

When Hulk hits the floor, his arm extends toward Tony, not toward the opposite side of the room from which the shot was fired. Hulk’s wide face twists in pain; his eyes glisten with confusion. Tony can just reach him, enough to pass his fingers over Hulk’s open palm, before his friend’s frightened green eyes blink heavily and close.

**⁂** **  
CLINT**

Clint sits on his hands at the briefing. Natasha, Steve, Tony, and the directors of the Avengers Initiative sit opposite him like this is some kind of trial and he’s the one in deposition. He looks to his left for council, though he knows he’ll find no one there. 

“You said you think Hulk’s been compromised.”

“I…” Clint swallows. It took him a month to set his mind straight after Loki used the tesseract on him. And he still has trouble trusting himself. Perhaps Banner is unaffected, perhaps his healing factor or his well-honed control have given him immunity to aftereffects, but Clint still feels artifacts of the mind control, at times. Especially in nightmares. Especially in times of panic after a flashback or haunting dream. “I think it’s possible that Hulk needs more time to adjust after being under the influence of Loki’s staff.”

Tony sits forward in his chair. “This is ridiculous. And Thor would say the same.”

Steve’s defense of Clint is steady and sure. “You don’t know that.”

Still, Tony pushes. “Thor has trained with Hulk at least once a week since The Battle of New York and he’s never once expressed concern-”

Agent Coulson sighs. 

With a swivel of his chair, Tony whips off his glasses and meets Coulson’s eyes. “You got something to say? Agent?”

“I’m just not sure if _Thor_ is the gauge by which we should be reading Hulk’s sanity.”

“So we’re saying Hulk is insane, now.” Tony stands. “You know what?” He gestures at everyone in his excitement. “You’re all crazy. Hulk broke out of the tesseract’s control long before the Battle even ended. You’re wrong. You’re all fucking wrong.”

Clint breathes. The heart of what Tony is saying had seemed like it was true - _before_. By the end of the Battle of New York, it seemed like Hulk had cleared his mind. He was fighting on the right side long enough to save Tony, to help save the city. But… “I don’t know. I’m just saying Hulk may need some more time before we can trust him on a mission-”

Coulson hugs his clipboard tablet to his chest. “I have to agree. We at SHIELD all agree with Agent Barton’s assessment, with his concerns. That’s why we’ve decided to greenlight all of you for the transport of the prisoner to Asgard, with the exception of Hulk. Dr. Banner will remain here. On Earth. In his... human form. Until further notice.”

Tony stands from the table. “What? He’s not your property. _We_ are not your-”

“It’s alright.” Bruce’s voice draws everyone’s attention to the door of the conference room. “I’ve spoken with Nick. It’s done. If this is what it takes to make all of you feel safe, then this is what it takes.”

Clint notes Bruce’s shuttered expression before turning to face Tony. 

Again wearing his glasses, Tony seethes. 

Clint wishes he could feel confident that speaking up was the right thing to do. He wishes he could feel confident that he was right to use the tranquilizer arrow. 

Bruce had given him the serum to keep them all safe - including Hulk. And that’s what he’d done; that’s what he’s doing. Isn’t he? 

Clint picks at his boot laces until they fall in even lines over his thigh. If only it were this easy to unfurl the knots in his stomach. The way anxiety twists within him, Clint thinks maybe everything he’s done has been wrong.

**⁂  
** **NATASHA**

Standing guard over Loki makes for boring work. 

Natasha trusts the transport cell Tony and Bruce constructed. Even Thor, fully aware of his brother’s craftiness and capacity for deception, has expressed confidence in its design. No matter how secure Loki is in his box, however, the freedom with which her teammates are conversing has her on edge. 

“We shouldn’t talk about this here,” she says, keeping her voice low, trying to convey the gravity of their mistake. “There’s plenty of time for…” she takes in the sight of her red-faced companions, “ _discussion…_ later. Right now, we have a mission.”

“One Avenger down,” Tony gripes.

Rogers speaks up in a tone that says the discussion should be dropped, but also says he’ll gladly pick it back up before the day is done. “We’ve split up before.”

“Yes,” Tony agrees with a sneer, “to reconvene at a point of interest.”

Loki laughs and Natasha snaps. “Can it. All of you.”

Iron Man’s faceplate _*clangs*_ into place. 

“Let’s just get this over with and get back,” Natasha thinks aloud. 

It’ll be bittersweet, sure, saying goodbye to the team for a while. But she’s looking forward to getting home to her little house in the suburbs. Where she’s the tattooed punk lady at the end of the cul-de-sac. Where her lawn-gnome-disguised security system peeks out from under overgrown rose bushes. Where the most infamy she’s gained is being the one who gives out full-sized candy bars on Halloween.

Loki is laughing again, even as Natasha backhands him across the face.

“Widow!” Cap shouts in reprimand, but then his expression softens like he’s remembered _this is Loki_ and Thor is up front with Clint co-piloting the aircraft Odin sent for his son’s interplanetary transport. 

But even while Loki’s lip bleeds into his grin, the god of mischief cackles. The ship around them trembles. And before they’ve even breached the Earth's atmosphere, the hull - and the mission - begin to fall apart.

The struggle against the ambush happens all at once and in crystal clarity. Natasha feels every moment the team hesitates. The seconds Iron Man waits for Hulk to leap in and clear a path. The way Hawkeye fumbles his landing after jumping from the wing of the aircraft to the top of one of San Francisco’s tallest buildings. She knows he’s expecting Hulk’s shoulders to show up under his feet. Thor cheats to the right side, knowing Hulk prefers to attack in synchrony from the left. And even Cap can’t stop himself from calling out, “Hulk, smash!” before he himself is slammed into the foot of Millenium Tower. 

Loki escapes with his minions and a familiar gargantuan in tow. 

“Was that...?”

Cap catches his shield against the magnets on his arm as he stares off into the direction of Loki’s dematerialization. “Abomination.”

“Guess it would have been handy to have Hulk around, wouldn’t it?”

Hawkeye shares a look with Natasha, but keeps his comments to himself.

Cap, however, speaks the fear on everyone’s mind. “Or it could have gone even worse.” 

When Iron Man’s gauntlets and boots fire up for flight, Natasha can sense the urgency in his need to move. 

“I’ll call for the Quinjet,” she says. “You alright to find your way back?”

Iron Man gives a nod and a stiff salute before taking to the sky. At her back, the others dust themselves off and assess for injuries. 

“Anyone hurt?” she asks as they come together to sit upon the ledge of a fountain. In front of them, the façade of a building crumbles.

Clint, the only one of them at true risk for lasting injury, clears a plume of dust from the air with a wave and blinks up at his teammates in surprise. “No? I’m… I think I’m fine.”

Natasha squints at the scene around them. The block looks like it was evacuated before they’d even been attacked. The fighting itself was over in an hour at most. Aside from holes in a few buildings and cracks in the street, it doesn’t even compare to the destruction that could have been.

“Then, let’s get back to New York. We have a lot to sort out.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce  
> Thor!  
> And the return of Hulk's POV!

**⁂** **  
****BRUCE**

There’s something like anger roiling in his gut and a knife of betrayal twisting in his heart as Nick Fury beckons Bruce to follow him into the conference room. Every chair around the long table has been filled with scientists from SHIELD R&D. All, but one.

“Mr. Stark,” Fury greets him like his uninvited presence isn’t the surprise Tony probably assumed it would be. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Bruce is grateful that Tony has taken up residence in the chair meant for himself. With no vacant spots, Tony has relieved him of the need to outright refuse a seat.

Not one to be thrown so easily, Fury continues his spiel. “We don’t have another week to waste. So far, we’ve been unable to synthesize the sedative that subdued Hulk on The Fourth.”

Bruce nods. Sedative. Subdued. Fury has chosen his words carefully, but even careful words can’t hide the truth. Bruce got the full debrief from Coulson after he returned to form. 

_Hulk had been fine. Through the parade and again when they called for him to join the BBQ. He was gentle and calm. But some time in the late evening, he grew agitated._

_Rogers assumed he was tired, ready to transform. Barton, who had kept close to Rogers through the day shared his suspicions, at first. Even when Hulk retreated, his shoulders crashing through the door frame, Stark excused the broken glass because Hulk might not have noticed the sliding glass doors were closed._

_But Fury disagreed. His report marked Hulk as ‘out of sorts’, unpredictable, unresponsive. According to the Director, Hulk quickly went from agitated to raging and crashed through the floor of SHIELD’s command center._

_Knowing the Tower better than anyone, Stark was the first to arrive on the scene. Barton, perhaps the second-most familiar with the layout of the building’s ventilation system, simply because of his inability to keep two feet on the ground, grabbed his bow and moved in just as quickly._

_They kept in communication with the others. Everyone wanted in, but Rogers felt that too many present would startle Hulk. So, they held back. According to Coulson, Rogers was the one who ordered the shot. Barton took it._

“We’d appreciate your cooperation, Dr. Banner. You could work alongside us, in our labs, to create something similar now that we’re opposing a threat like Abomination.”

Bruce can’t meet Tony’s eyes. “A threat like Hulk.”

“We can’t deny the similarities. The gamma radiation to which you were both exposed has produced some interesting results. We’ll need something stronger than what you have for Hulk, in order to ensure its effectiveness.”

“Interesting.” _Fury’s words are getting sloppy_ , Bruce thinks. _He knows I’m set to refuse. Maybe Tony is supposed to be here, after all. Maybe Tony is here to_ guide _Bruce toward the answer Fury wants._

“If Abomination truly had a hand in Loki’s escape,” Fury explains, “that means one of the strongest of Earth’s villains and one of the craftiest have decided to partner up. We’re gonna need all the help we can get. The labs at R&D-”

“He has a lab.” Tony speaks up from the far end of the table. “He doesn’t need your people looking over his shoulder or rifling through his work. He has a lab here and he can choose how he wants to use it.”

Bruce swallows his relief that Tony hasn’t abandoned him. Fortified with the backing of a friend, he raises an eyebrow at Fury, waiting for his counter.

“The fate of the world is in your hands, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce wants to make him swallow his foot.

Apparently, Tony has similar desires. “Did you forget that you were the ones who sent us into a trap without our MVP? And now the fate of the world is in his hands? Gimme a break, Nick.”

Bruce glares at the table of SHIELD’s lab-coat wearing sycophants. “I agreed to choke up on Hulk’s leash. I’m not going to hand over a way to hurt him, as well.”

A woman in cats-eye glasses lifts her pen for attention. “This wouldn’t be a weapon against Hulk.”

_From sedative to weapon. That escalated quickly._ “If you’ll excuse me. I think this meeting is over.”

Fury raises his voice a notch. “And I think it’s just getting started.” It’s a pitiful attempt at demanding authority from one such as Bruce… Hulk or not. 

“Then, I’m sorry, Director, but you are mistaken.” Bruce nods once at Tony before making his exit.

**⁂**

Bruce looks up from the yarn in his hands as Tony enters the common area with a sigh. Tony stomps around sighing and slamming cabinet doors and it’s enough to be distracting and a clear request for attention, but Bruce lets his hands move in their practiced patterns, one eye on the yarn passing through his fingers and around the crochet hook, his other eye waiting for Tony to step into his periphery.

Finally, Tony comes into the living room with a bag of beef jerky and a canned energy drink. 

Though there is ample room beside him, Bruce shifts on the couch. Tony is buzzing with enough energy to take up extra space. His bouncy knees tend to call for a manspread when he’s lounging at home. 

Bruce is about to put his crafting bag on the floor when Tony says, “No, don’t- Um, you’re fine. I was just gonna-” Tony’s legs fold under him as he takes a seat on the floor. Looking up at Bruce’s hands, he gestures with a strip of dried meat. “My grandma used to knit.”

“She did?”

Tony shrugs. He gazes off toward the blank television screen and gives a noncommittal grunt. “Probably not. But I didn’t know her, so I tell myself: Gran used to knit. And then I’ve given myself an image of someone in my family who had soft edges. Helps me feel like not every Stark was a disappointment to humanity.”

“You’re not a disappointment, Tony.”

Tony shrugs again and Bruce wishes he could have a better look at his face. 

“So you think yarn gives a person soft edges?”

“Only if that person is knitting booties for Hulk. Please tell me you’re knitting booties for Hulk.”

“I’m crocheting hats for the Children’s hospital.”

Tony slumps and it kind of looks like he’s melting. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Bruce grins at the sight of him. “So about those soft edges.”

“You’ve got all kinds of edges, Bruce.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Seeing you go up against Nick today was a thing of beauty.”

Bruce shakes his head. Nothing about that meeting sat well with him. Not Fury’s request. Not the curious looks on the faces of the other scientists in attendance. Not the fact that there were other scientists present in the first place. Not the way Bruce let Tony stand up for him.

“I can handle myself.”

Tony’s smile toes the line of fanatical as he tosses a piece of jerky into his mouth. “You sure as shit can.” At least he has the decency to close his mouth as he chews.

Bruce appreciates the vote of confidence, but his point still stands. “You don’t have to put yourself in those positions for me. You shouldn’t have.”

Tony tips his head from side to side as he munches, not really disagreeing but not quite backing down. “Well, you’re welcome anyway. And I, uh, kinda lied in there. Don’t be mad.”

Bruce can’t help but smile. Tony is the only one who can say, ‘don’t be mad’ and have it sound like a dare. He’s the only one who ever says it to Bruce without a hint of fear.

“What could you, of all people, have done to upset me?”

“Your lab.” Tony’s grimace is the thing of a cartoon character, but his knees are steady even as he spews out his explanation in a rush. “The one I promised you. It kinda… broke. Just a little. Just, like-” he pops another small bit of jerky into his mouth “-it’s gonna take some time to fix. But there’s still the main lab we can share. And we have the ‘shop. So if you stayed, it’s not like we’d be strapped for room or resources.”

Bruce’s hands still mid-stitch. He’s lost count. If he rounds the row off now it’ll be a good size for the NICU, maybe. But he can worry about that later because Tony just said- “You were serious about me _living_ here?” 

“Oh, abso-friggin-lutely.” Tony sits up straighter and the bounce in his knees returns. “Why? You weren’t?”

Bruce hadn’t had time to think about it, but there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. There wasn’t anywhere else to call home. The Tower meant a place of shelter, security… _SHIELD…_ A dull headache starts at the mere thought of the acronym. 

“You don’t have to give me a decision today. Just… don’t go yet. I mean, not before you knit me some mittens or something.” Tony turns to sit with his back against the couch and any pressure on Bruce to give an answer slips away. 

Bruce stares for a moment before pulling a measuring tape out of his bag and beckoning Tony close. Tony holds up his hand and Bruce shakes his head. “I make hats, not _mittens or something_.”

“Oh.” Tony bows his head a little and Bruce slips the measuring tape around it like a halo. 

With Tony’s shift, the thin scar on his cheek catches the light and shines. To touch it is tempting. Bruce forgets what it feels like, to scar like that. He forgets what the puckered skin feels like under his fingertips. Nevertheless, the scar shouldn't be there. Tony shouldn't have stepped in front of the shot meant for Hulk. 

Bruce can’t keep himself from staring, and the pause stretches too long. 

After an interminable silence, Tony looks up through his lashes, bringing his hand to his cheek. 

Bruce clears his throat and smiles despite his wave of guilt. “Perfect,” he says. “Big brain, tiny head. That makes it easy.”

Tony slaps Bruce’s hands away with a, “Fuck you,” and his words bounce with laughter. Then Tony sits back and unhooks a pair of glasses from his collar. “I almost forgot. These are yours.” He hands them up to Bruce, a residual smile creasing the corners of his eyes as he does so.

“I have a few spares,” Bruce underestimates, but he takes the pair just the same. “Thank you for keeping them safe for me.”

Tony meets Bruce’s eyes for a moment as he says, “Sure. Any time.” Then he turns to settle his back against the couch again. With his tablet propped upon his bent knees and his snack tucked between him and Bruce’s bag of yarns, Tony hums a sound of contentment.

“You comfortable down there?” Bruce asks before thinking maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he shouldn’t have drawn attention to the fact that Tony is at his feet while there’s a giant sofa wrapped around the coffee table in a U. 

But Tony tips his head back, brushing Bruce’s knee with his cheek, and hums again. “Is it good for you?”

Bruce casts Tony a sideways glance that conveys nothing of the comfort it brings him to have the man at his side. “Just don’t get in my way.”

**⁂** **  
****THOR**

Mjolnir collides with the adamantium barrier in the training room before Thor deftly calls it back to his hand. He follows this pattern over and over, effectively bouncing the hammer against the wall like Stark would a tennis ball while in a state of boredom. And that’s exactly the state he is in - utter and complete boredom. 

He tries to push himself in training. He tries to put aside the hurt, channel his anger at the imaginary foe in each simulation. He tries to forget that the men fighting alongside him cannot be trusted. 

“Run it again!” Captain Rogers calls from his place on the mats. His fists slam into punching bags until they send up clouds of sand. This new kind of bag did not used to burst. The wall of the gym is now lined with bags that have proven SHIELD R&D underestimate Captain Rogers’ strength in frustration. 

“Go again!” Captain Rogers urges, and Hawkeye returns to the room with another punching bag to hang in replacement of the one the captain most recently demolished.

At the sight of their new company, Thor releases Mjolnir. The hammer lands heavily on the ground.

Hawkeye’s attention flicks toward the sound. Thor holds his gaze. There are no secrets between them. Not about this. Hawkeye knows Thor’s forgiveness is something that, without Hulk’s safe return to the team, will be nearly impossible to come by. 

Hawkeye secures the new punching bag on an empty hook and turns toward the obstacle course. He’s been running it often and alone since Widow left to check on a situation at her home - something about her garden being overrun by tiny stone creatures. Thor had offered his assistance in vanquishing the little monsters, but when she refused help, Thor offered her his confidence and a wish for her safe passage instead. 

“I’ll fire up one of the older simulations for you,” Captain Rogers offers. “We can ask Stark to make something new.”

Thor lifts Mjolnir again, hefting it to his shoulder. “For what purpose, Captain? To what end?” He has his mind on the door. Training without a challenge, without a challenger, without Hulk is pointless. How many times can Thor hit a target, launch himself through the air, dodge friendly fire? He’s been doing such things for millenia. “I shall retire for the evening.”

A hot bath calls to him. A book. Perhaps something from the list of Classics he hasn’t read yet. He thinks that _War and Peace_ sounds interesting. But then again, _The Count of Monte Cristo_ promises a protagonist fueled by the anger of betrayal. A trip to the library, then.

Captain Rogers’ bag meets its death with a bang. The captain sighs as he pulls his fist out of the bag, and sand pours from the hole like water rushing through a broken levy. “We all miss him.”

Perhaps that is true. But Captain Rogers should have thought of that, should have considered the implications of his actions before he gave his orders. Before he gave the ‘OK’ for Hawkeye to use the green arrows. 

Thor had never considered using them, not once. When Banner first spoke of their existence, Thor had assumed they would be used as a last resort, not a first line of defense. 

“Thor?” Hawkeye asks from his spot perched atop a pillar. He is so close and so high that Thor needs to crane his neck up to see him. “I get that you’re still pissed.”

Thor assumes that means enraged. Hawkeye has been using the word in varying conjugations for the better part of the week since Loki’s escape. According to Hawkeye, Thor is always pissy, or pissed off, or - like now - just plain pissed. “Quite so,” Thor agrees.

But Hawkeye’s mouth twists to one side before he pulls his lips between his teeth. After a deep breath, he starts up again. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that, man. I do. But… Dr. Banner-” Hawkeye cuts himself off with a shake of his head.

Thor thinks that is the right move. He does not think he - or Banner - can stand to endure one more lecture about how it was the doctor himself who developed such a poison. 

Instead, Hawkeye asks, “Do you think Hulk’s mad at me, too? Do you think he understands?”

There is a bitter taste in Thor’s mouth as he answers. “It is you who claims our green brother is incapable of reason, is it not?”

“But-”

“Until Hulk is granted permission to speak for himself, I cannot endeavor to know.”

  
  


**⁂** **  
****HULK**

The world is bright lights and moving pictures. 

Lines - a jumble of squiggles Hulk doesn’t understand - are held in Banner’s hands. Shimmering shapes grow bigger and smaller at the flick of his wrist. 

There is noise. Music, Metal Man calls it. 

And talking. Much talking.

Hulk tries to focus on the voices. They soothe. Everything else makes Hulk’s head throb. 

He wants to turn away, but Banner has their eyes now. Even turning inward, the stimuli of the room will aggravate him. Unless he retreats into the darkness - and Hulk doesn’t want to go back there. Not just yet.

Not when he can hear Metal Man’s voice. Not when it’s so close.

Hulk takes Banner’s gaze upon himself and focuses on their companion in the room. Hulk recognizes the space, the lab. Metal Man’s favorite place. No, not Metal Man when he’s here. Puny-pink. Tony. 

Tony is beside him, beside Banner, beside _them._ Tony is smiling at them as he talks. “You alright?”

Banner nods their head and the movement tips the world up and down. Hulk feels dizzy and his mind aches. 

“Some eye fatigue,” Banner answers. “A little headache; I think it might be time to shut this down.”

Tony says one word, “JARVIS,” and the sparkling lines disappear from the air; the lights overhead shine more like the moon than the sun.

The brightest light in the room is the blue circle at the center of Tony’s chest. Hulk wants to touch it. He wants to see it without the layer of fabric muting its glow. He wants to cover it up and see if his hand changes color like the shirt does.

Banner lifts his hand and Hulk thinks that maybe he’s gotten through to him in some meaningful way. But the movement is only Banner taking off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. It feels good. Hulk purrs.

Banner’s mind jumps toward Hulk in that moment, startling him into a retreat. Banner’s thoughts are racing, excited and curious. 

Hulk crouches further into the shadows. The thoughts are too fast, too loud. Hulk’s head already hurts and this, this is too much. Hulk holds his head in his hands, pressing his palms over his ears, until the buzzing of Banner’s mind fades into its ever-present drone.

Banner replaces his glasses and blinks through the lenses. They’re clearer than before. Images are sharper. It’s both better and worse. Hulk isn’t so dizzy, but the lines in Tony’s frown are crisp. 

“I think I’m gonna do some work on Thor’s armor.”

“In the ‘shop?” Banner’s voice rumbles in his chest. 

“Nah,” Tony lifts his tablet between them. “Still sorting through designs. Hard to know what defenses a god really needs. Especially hard to anticipate what we’ll go up against next.”

Hulk surges forward at that, at the idea that Metal Man, Thor, and the others will be without him in a fight. Hulk gives a hard huff. He feels his chest expanding with each ragged breath. But Banner’s presence fills the space of their mind in an instant. His thoughts are soft and warm. 

“Sorry, I-” Tony expels a long breath. “You hungry?”

Banner shrugs off the mention of missions Hulk may never attend like it’s easy for him to let his teammates go without him. “I could eat. And maybe after, I could grab my bag.”

“Yeah.” Tony perks up at Banner’s suggestion and Hulk does as well.

Banner’s bag. Balls of yarn. Soft. Warm. Squishy in Banner’s hands. Banner’s thoughts are clear, slow, and even when he yarns. 

Tony will be there. In the quiet. And Tony’s silence is almost as soothing as the sound of his voice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha  
> Tony  
> Steve

**⁂  
** **NATASHA**

Natasha wipes sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. She can feel the rough smear of soil staining her forehead and doesn’t even care. Her hair is coming undone, falling into her eyes; the knees of her jeans are soaked through with mud, but she’s happy. Not even Steve’s complaints can tarnish her mood this morning.

“Everything is falling apart.”

Natasha adjusts her cellphone between her shoulder and ear as he whines. “It’ll come together,” she consoles. “You can’t force it. Bruce is a man of reason, but he’s been through a lot. We all have. Can’t you understand what he’s going through?”

“Director Fury asked him to help R&D synthesize a serum strong enough to take down Abomination.”

“I know.” She digs her fingers into the soil and tears a stubborn weed from its roots. “He refused. Did you expect any different?” Moving through the garden, pulling vines and stray grasses from the ground, Natasha sighs. “Did anyone? Really?”

“I don’t know.” Rogers sounds determined, always determined. “I expected him to cooperate.”

Natasha sits back to admire her work. “Cooperate?” 

Steve groans. “Maybe that’s not the right word. A serum against an Abomination-level threat would revolutionize the way we defend Earth’s people.”

“Just by existing, The Avengers have revolutionized Earth’s defenses.” 

“That’s not all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“SHIELD’s planning to ask Tony to build something new.”

“And? Tony’s always inventing new weapons, improving the ones we have. We’ve been a team for less than 6 months and the Bites have already gotten two upgrades.”

“What if Dr. Banner convinces Tony the weapons could be used against Hulk? What if he refuses as well?”

“Tony can draw those conclusions all on his own, Steve.”

“So you agree with them.”

“I don’t have the luxury of having an opinion. I never have. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mission at hand. I think I’m losing.” 

“Yeah, sure, of course. Wait, you’re on a mission? I thought you went home.”

“I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Same time?”

“Be safe.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine once I destroy the winter creeper. Bastards strangled out half my gnome army.”

“Your what?”

“I gotta go. And, Steve? Worry less about SHIELD and more about our friends, OK? Hulk’s been up against Abomination and beaten him back with his fists - alone. With all of us, that monster doesn’t stand a chance - regardless of serums and new weapons.”

  
  


**⁂** **  
****TONY**

Tony gives himself a satisfied pat on the back as he reviews the schematics for his new missile pack. Balancing out the weight on the Iron Man suit had been a touch trickier than he’d anticipated, but thinking things through with his tablet in front of him and Bruce at his back is easy. 

Easier than trying to sort his thoughts when he’s alone. His thoughts are quieter with Bruce next to him like this. And Bruce doesn’t seem to mind. He’s already shipped one box of beanie hats to New York Presbyterian since they started hanging out like this last month. 

Tony closes the files and sets his tablet aside, turning to face Bruce with a grin. But Bruce doesn’t smile back at him. 

Slack-jawed and chin resting on his chest, Bruce sleeps soundly. The hat in his lap is a mess of yarn tangled in his fingers and the hook is tucked between his thighs. Tony glances down at Bruce’s pulsometer watch, the countdown to his alarm ticks the seconds away. Bruce has about three minutes before beeping will gradually increase in volume, calling him out of sleep before a REM cycle can drag him into dreams. 

Tony hasn’t watched Bruce sleep since they first developed the alarm system. Since Bruce first agreed to join the Avengers Initiative and entrusted Tony with the secrets of his sleepless nights. 

With all of their late nights in the lab, preparing for Loki to strike, Bruce had noticed he and Tony shared something in common. Neither of them cared for sleep. 

It seemed pertinent, then, that they come up with ways to stave off the nightmares in order to perform at their best. 

It was unfair for Tony to compare his dreams with Bruce’s. While Tony awoke from his nightmares with an unquenchable thirst and a one-track mind directed at his liquor cabinet, at least he still woke up in the same body. Bruce wasn’t the one waking from his bad dreams at all. Not to say that Tony minds visits from The Big Guy, but Bruce, Bruce doesn’t like things out of his control.

Tony delicately plucks yarn from Bruce’s hands, letting the line fall into Bruce’s lap. He’s careful not to make any sudden movements, not because he’s worried about what would happen if he startled Bruce awake but because Bruce deserves every second of uninterrupted rest he can manage.

The alarm rings, shrill in Tony’s ear as he kneels at Bruce’s feet. Tony expects Bruce to wake all at once at the sound, but it’s gradual. There’s the tip of his head this way and that as he stretches, the arch of his back, the press of his thumb over the pulsometer screen to quiet the noise. Bruce clears his throat and blinks his eyes until slowly, slowly, slowly his gaze comes to rest upon Tony.

“Good morning,” Tony says with a smile.

“Is it?”

“What?”

“Morning.”

“Oh. Um. Nope. But we could grab a late lunch.”

“I have to meditate.”

“Have to? Is everything OK?”

Bruce stares down at Tony long enough that Tony thinks maybe he should look away, but holding Bruce’s gaze when no one else will is part of what makes Tony Bruce’s favorite. At least, Tony’s pretty sure he’s Bruce’s favorite. 

“Did you dream?”

“No. No, nothing’s wrong. We just worked through the night and then I-” Bruce sighs. “I should have meditated before I sat down to do this,” he gestures to the knots of yarn in his lap. 

“Oh.” Tony feels the need to apologize. It was his panic attack that threw off Bruce’s routine. 

Tony had almost forgotten his argument with Nick. He had almost forgotten Nick’s request for weaponry that could pierce Abomination’s kevlar-strong skin. He had almost forgotten the way the request sounded like a demand, like a threat. 

_“If you don’t do it, SHIELD will find someone who will.”_

_Tony had stormed into the lab and Bruce had stood by, unwavering and solid, as Tony threw his chair against the bulletproof window. Bruce had held him, without need for explanation, as Tony swore and fought against his arms. Bruce had hugged him until they were seated on the floor and Tony could see that his own knuckles were raw and bleeding._

_“Do you want to talk about it?” Bruce had asked while his hug still held Tony’s arms trapped in front of him._

_“I wanna get out of here,” Tony remembers himself saying._

  
  


_He had meant out of the Tower, out of the city, out from under SHIELD’s watchful eye. But Bruce had led him to the penthouse. Bruce had told him to sit. Bruce had pulled his spare bag of yarn out from under the coffee table and started to work._

_And Tony finally felt like he was able to breathe again._

_Every so often, Bruce’s hands would find their way to rest upon the crown of Tony’s head. Tony hadn’t understood why, hadn’t wanted to look up for fear Bruce would stop, but after the third or fourth time Tony realized Bruce was measuring him for his hat._

_“Don’t you have hair spray that doesn’t feel like glue?” Bruce had teased like Tony hadn’t just flipped out with no explanation whatsoever._

_Without the energy or wherewithal to quip, Tony had leaned into Bruce’s hands and let them comb out the hair spray until his hair was soft and smooth._

Bruce’s hands are in Tony’s hair again, now, smoothing down the back where Tony is sure it’s messy from being pressed back against the cushions as he worked. “I have a meeting with SHIELD R&D in the morning. I’m going to be prepared for whatever they throw at me.”

“Whatever they say-” Tony feels Bruce’s hand go still in his hair “-you don’t have to do it.”

“I know.”

“And Hulk, he can... You guys can… Just because they want him locked away, doesn’t mean he has to be.”

Bruce stands at that, leaving Tony on the floor, on his knees, watching him as he walks to the windows. 

“I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone,” Bruce says. “What’s safe.”

“You always do. But I’m telling you they have it wrong. Hulk wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. He wasn’t _going to_. I think he was just scared.”

Bruce closes his eyes and places his hand over his abdomen. He takes a slow, measured breath and Tony worries he’s ruined it. He’s broken Bruce’s calm. Not with jokes and pokes, but with his honest assessment that Hulk isn’t just a product of rage.

“If you would let me talk to him.”

“Tony, no.”

“Why does everyone say, ‘Tony, no’? Huh? When am I ever wrong?”

Bruce huffs and his breathing is back to normal-normal not forced-and-even. _Good._

“We can go to the training room. I’ll close the feed. Just the two of us.”

“Tony…”

“Bruce, it’ll be fun. An experiment. I’ll ask him whatever you want to know. We can even have JARVIS record it as proof the Big Guy’s not a threat to-”

“Tony, stop!”

Tony’s mouth snaps shut and his eyes find the floor of their own accord. 

Sitting on his heels, Tony listens to Bruce’s breath. It’s heavy and coming closer with each footstep. When Bruce’s socked feet come into view, Tony looks up. 

Bruce’s voice is thick as he asks, “Do you have somewhere to be? Someone that can…”

Tony stares because there’s no one else he really wants to be around. Tony stares because Bruce somehow knows that if Tony is left alone right now, he’ll drink. 

“I think Steve’s around,” Tony shrugs, “but-” 

“Go to him.”

_Go to Steve._

It surprises Tony that Bruce would encourage him to go back to Steve. Even if Bruce didn't know the nature of Tony's past with the aforementioned guy, Tony thought things between he and Bruce amounted to more than Tony being passed back to the man who pushed him away, the one who told him they were mismatched from the start. Not that Bruce or anyone else knew his friendship with Steve used to include a level of intimacy Tony had only ever really exercised with Pepper before. 

Tony wants to resist, but he knows that any argument will only put more pressure on Bruce. It will only pull him away from his need for meditation, again. So, Tony rises to his feet, turns to the door, and walks away.

**⁂** **  
****STEVE**

Tony’s music is blaring and Steve doesn’t know how Barton can take it. Don’t the hearing aids Tony made give him super sensitive hearing or something? Then, Steve notices the purple hardware lying on the end table beside him and he groans.

“Turn it down.”

“Rock and roll ain’t noise pollution,” Tony sings in discordance with Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir playing from the speakers. 

“Is this my punishment?” Steve asks and he really shouldn’t have, because Tony turns off the music and turns on him and the room feels like it’s turning upside down.

“Punishment?” Tony asks with venom dripping from the word. “For what do you think you deserve to be punished, Stevie?”

Steve doesn’t have a chance to answer before Barton sits up with a start. “Oh, shit.” 

Steve and Tony turn their attention on Barton like the flip of a switch. “What is it?”

Barton tosses his phone across the room to Steve who deftly snatches it from the air. “Banner went to R&D.”

“No,” Tony looks from Barton to Steve for answers. “He said he was meditating. He’s got a meeting with them in the morning.”

Steve stares at the text in his hand. “Oh, shit,” he mirrors Barton’s sentiment. “How long ago did he send this?”

Clint squints at Steve’s profile as he affixes his hearing aids behind his ears. 

Steve holds out the phone to Tony. “Make it do the thing where it shows the clock under the message.”

Tony taps the text: ‘Taking care of something for Coulson. Meet you at 8.’ The message was sent less than ten minutes ago.

“What the hell is going on at 8?”

Steve rolls his eyes waving for Tony to follow him the elevator, “Does it matter?” Dragging Tony to the rescue of his best friend should not take as much effort as all this. 

“Well, I thought we hated you guys,” Tony says with a sneer.

“What the fuck, Stark?”

“Yeah, what the fuck, Barton, you shot our biggest friend.”

“A month ago. With a tranq Banner gave me, man. Fuck.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

Steve grabs them both by the arm and gets them into the elevator with a shove. “Can everybody just save the fucks for later? Dr. Banner is walking into a world of shit right now.”

The color drains from Tony’s face and Steve wonders if, perhaps, there was a more delicate way to have broken the news. “What kind of shit?” 

Steve squares off his shoulders; good posture offers him confidence when his moral compass can’t readily find North. “When Dr. Banner refused to make more of his serum-”

“Poison,” Tony counters.

“Sedative,” Clint clarifies.

Steve continues, “-SHIELD went forward with their attempts to break down the sample they had.”

“They tried to reverse engineer it.”

“And they failed miserably?”

There’s no delicate way to say this, but Steve tries. “Not exactly. It’s true, they were unable to replicate Dr. Banner’s compound. They did, however, develop a whole host of serums they would like to test. And Agent Coulson feels that since Dr. Banner is the only other gamma irradiated being we have in custody-”

“Bruce is not in your fucking custody! Asshole! Let me out of this elevator. J?!”

The elevators doors open and Tony finds himself face-to-face with Bruce. Bruce holds his mouth in a firm line as he glares past Tony at Steve and Clint.

“Bruce,” Tony steps off the lift without a sideways glance, “pack your shit. We’re getting out of here.”

Bruce’s stare feels like it can bore a hole through Steve’s head. “Gladly.”

The elevator doors close on Bruce’s stare and Steve punches the control panel without restraint. “Fuck!”

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha  
> Bruce

****⁂  
** **NATASHA** **

“This is not your call, Agent.”

Natasha places her hands on her desk and nods at the video feed on her monitor. “I understand, Director. I’m concerned about the team. That’s all. If I could get approval to visit them in California, maybe I could convince them-”

“We appreciate your success in bringing Dr. Banner to the Avengers Initiative the first time. However, sending you in for a second attempt seems like pressing our luck.”

“Won’t know unless you try, sir.”

“We at SHIELD have decided to let Stark throw his little temper tantrum. He’ll come around.” Fury is so convinced. “As soon as there’s a threat, Iron Man will answer the call.”

Natasha knows better than to get cocky. Loyalty comes in tiers and Tony’s broadcasting that his allegiance to Bruce outweighs SHIELD by about three thousand miles. “And Hulk?”

“Jury’s still out.”

_Jury. Right._ “Is there even a trial… sir?”

“Make sure you keep up your scheduled check-ins with Captain Rogers. He’s looking a little frayed. I believe he’s taken up finger painting.”

Fury’s change of subject is all too telling. But he’s not wrong. Steve places the cohesion of the Avengers team on his own head. This rift is pulling him in all kinds of directions. “It’s action painting. Abstract expressionism. Like Pollock.”

“Well, whatever it is, it's making a damn mess of the training room.”

“Training room?” _If Steve’s turned the gym into his new art studio, things must be worse than she thought._

“I think Agent Barton is the only one around here with enough discipline to keep up with his drills.” 

Natasha frowns. It sounds less like discipline and more like self-imposed punishment. “Thanks for keeping me in the know.”

“Enjoy your vacation. I’ll call you when I need you.”

Natasha ends the call with Fury just to send out a new request to speak with Bruce. 

"Hey, Nat." Bruce answers after one ring. He's refused video conferencing. Again. "How's Virginia?" 

Natasha laughs. It would feel good to laugh, if it wasn’t put on. "Not Virginia."

"Well, if your location is such a secret you should stop telling me where you aren't. Eventually I'll narrow it down to where you are."

"Yeah? And then what?" Natasha almost wishes he would come by. It's not even that far of a trip… for Hulk. A hop, skip, and a jump, really.

Well, maybe a little further than that. 

Bruce huffs. "How are you?"

"Heh,” Natasha leans back in her chair. The leather groans beneath her. “I'm certainly not enjoying the boredom everyone promised me.” In truth, the drama has her itching to get back, but she hates to prove Fury right. 

Yet again her desire for something _normal_ is trumped by her drive to work, to serve, to protect. The latter has only gotten more intense since she’s been assigned to a team. At this rate, she’ll be scheduling a flight back to the guys in New York before the week is through. “Have you spoken to them?"

"Thor calls.” Bruce sounds heartbroken over it. “But I think he wants to talk to Hulk and I can't… I can't give him that."

"Even in Malibu?" Certainly Bruce and Tony could brainstorm a safe place for Hulk to meet his sparring partner. Not to fight, hopefully, but to allow Thor a chance to see Hulk is alright. A chance for everyone to assess Hulk’s state of mind.

"As long as SHIELD has their eyes on Hulk as their guinea pig, I have to exercise caution."

"You're keeping him safe." Natasha understands the lengths one can go for safety.

"I'm looking out for myself. It's selfish."

"It's human, Bruce. And I wouldn't ask you to make yourself or Hulk vulnerable while you feel at risk.” Asking about Bruce's contact with Steve and Clint is a moot point. Natasha knows he hasn't spoken to them since he and Tony booked their flight. But she hasn't spoken to Stark in just as long. "How is Tony?"

"You should ask him yourself."

"I should?"

"He's been giving me a wide berth since we arrived. I think I finally scared him off." If there was heartbreak in his voice when he spoke about freezing out Thor, then Bruce sounds absolutely despondent now.

Frowning, Natasha steeples her fingers as she sits forward in her chair. She’s grateful Bruce has refused video feed, after all. "Impossible,” she says, but all is quiet on Bruce’s end of the line. “Where is he?"

"The lab? Or the ‘shop. Or the pool." Bruce’s uncertainty is mixed with exasperation, loneliness that tugs on Natasha’s heart. But if Tony needs space - or thinks Bruce is the one who needs it - she’s sure he is acting with good reason. 

Even so, for the men to keep such a distance that Bruce would answer with sincerity that he doesn’t know where Tony is… "The mansion can't be that big."

"I'm not at the mansion. I took a walk."

Natasha’s concern for Bruce rises, but only in the measured amount she allows. He hasn’t given any clues that he is in danger. Even if he is secretly on the run, he sounds safe. 

A few taps on her keyboard has her logged into SHIELD’s database and accessing the tracker on Bruce’s phone. He’s still in California, still pinged on Malibu’s coastline, but nearly 15 miles from Tony’s mark. 

“Pretty late for a walk, don’t you think?”

“I’m on my way back,” Bruce announces as his pin starts to move. “Nat?”

“Yeah.”

“Whatever you’re doing in Georgia. Stay safe.”

Natasha misses when she could chuckle at Bruce’s inquiries into her life as a spy and mean it. “Not in Georgia, Bruce.”

“So you say.”

****⁂  
** **BRUCE** **

Salutation to the Sun. The clouds are soft streaks of color as Bruce raises his arms over his head. Below the deck, the sea crashes against the shore, the tide in a steady rise toward the cliffs. Within him, there’s a stirring, and a settling of nerves. It had been a rough night, Bruce thinks. A dream touched the cusp of his consciousness as he woke from sleep. Almost as if the alarm wasn’t going to wake him in time. 

When he did rise, he was covered in sand and small raised bumps. Bites from sand mites that would heal once he brushed the pests from his clothes. Evidence that he’d tossed and turned during his short nap on the beach. 

He contemplated a swim, but just the sight of the water had sent his insides reeling. He had to turn away, turn inward, and soothe the presence of the one residing in his mind. 

Warrior II. Reverse. Each day, Bruce grows ever more certain this heaviness within him is Hulk. Each day, the presence presses forward an inch closer than before. Each day, it scurries back into the shadows a little slower. 

Warrior I. Bruce lunges, stretches to the sky, and searches within himself. The Other Guy seems to enjoy the transition of cool early morning air warming beneath the rising sun. He creeps cautiously forward until Bruce can almost feel a sensation like blood rushing up his arms to the tips of his fingers. His arms feel stronger than before, but as he flows into his next pose, Bruce assures himself that his body is still in his control. 

After an hour of yoga and silent contemplation in the presence of his _other_ , Bruce brushes himself off and heads through the kitchen on his way to the guest room. In the adjacent lounge, Bruce overhears Tony on the phone.

“I don’t know if things will ever go back to the way they were, Pep.”

Bruce’s heart clenches in his chest. Tony sounds exhausted, drawn thin. And Bruce can’t help but assume Tony is talking about him.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to get dragged into this mess anymore... Yeah, of course I’ll be there… No, no, I don’t think so… If Steve- Yes, I’ve spoken with him…”

Bruce suspected as much. With as little time as they spend together in the Malibu lab. With the silence between them during the time they actually spend in each other’s company. It shouldn’t come as a shock that Tony has kept up communication with the others. After all, Bruce has his friendship with Nat. And some communication with Thor. Even Clint has reached out to him through the silly app games he’s always playing on his phone. 

But Cap... Steve... that asshole who should have been looking out for him and instead sold him out to SHIELD like a lab rat... He hasn’t said ‘boo’ to Bruce since he left. So, of course, he’s been keeping tabs through Tony.

“Doesn’t matter…” Tony continues, “I said, it won’t be a problem. Why doesn’t anybody trust me anymore? I know what I’m doing…”

Bruce wonders if that trust comment is a dig at him as much as at Pepper - or at whomever Tony is referencing. 

“You don’t know the whole story… What happened on The Fourth- No, I know you don’t want to get involved,” Tony says and Bruce is grateful that Pepper has chosen to remain out of the loop. Whatever Hulk did - however harmless Tony says it was, however out-of-control SHIELD claims he was at the time - Bruce is glad Pepper hasn’t been told of it. He doesn’t want another person looking at him like he might explode at any minute; she already approaches him with more caution than most.

But when even popular sitcoms acknowledge that _‘men are horrible and the world is a nightmare*,’_ then Bruce can’t fault her for guarding herself against the man everyone knows has the potential of becoming a monster, the man everyone assumes is on a hair-trigger to snap into a mindless beast.

Behind his ribcage, behind his eyes, Bruce feels the rush of Hulk surging forward in distress. Bruce tries to shield his thoughts from his altered consciousness. But how can he, now that Hulk has chosen to stick along for the ride? 

_You’re not mindless._ Bruce does his best to direct this thought over all the others, and it must stick because he feels the restlessness recede. 

“Ok…” Tony says. “Tomorrow night.”

_Tomorrow night?_

“Yep. Hey, Hap. You too, buddy… Nothing but a smile. You should dress to match; we’ll cause a sensation.”

At a joke that would once make Bruce smile, he frowns. It’s been a week since he heard Tony relax enough to make jokes. Even something forced such as this.

“See you then.” 

_See you where?_

The soft sounds of movement in the other room set Bruce into motion. Tony doesn’t seek him out anymore, for whatever reason. And so, Bruce doesn’t want to startle him with his presence in the hall. 

After Bruce’s shower, they’ll convene in the lab - a routine. One Bruce won’t give up no matter how awkward the hours have become. Because no matter how frustrating it is, how much it twists him inside to work alongside Tony in stilted silence, not having him around is so much worse. 

**⁂**

Bruce scratches his head over his formula. If only SHIELD had underestimated Tony. If only they could access SHIELD’s work. But pen and paper are Bruce’s standard for secrecy. He can’t blame the scientists at R&D for being smart enough to use the same strategy to keep their findings under lock and key. 

Bruce wants to ask Tony if JARVIS has any way of spying on SHIELD’s labs. Maybe someone will get sloppy. Maybe someone will leave a notebook open and the cameras can get a clear picture. But, of course, Tony would have thought of that. 

Standing at the desks behind him, Tony clears his throat and Bruce wants to offer him water. Bruce wants to tell him to take a break. He wants to ask him if he’s eaten yet today. 

As if reading Bruce’s thoughts, Tony takes a sip of his coffee and clears his throat again. The caffeine is drying him out, Bruce thinks. He wants to offer Tony a cup of tea, but there seems to be a clear line dividing the lab. 

Sometimes Tony will toe that line. A few times Bruce placed a hand at Tony’s back as to let him know it’s alright. The closeness is welcome. Tony doesn’t need to be afraid. Despite his anger toward SHIELD, Bruce can be gentle. Bruce is still a safe space. But at Bruce’s touches, Tony had shied away. And now, every time Bruce steps too close, Tony steps out of reach.

Bruce catches Tony’s eyes on him and Bruce realizes he’s drifted _too close_ , crowded Tony into one of the few corners of their workspace. Bruce hugs his notebook to his chest, tucks his pen behind his ear, and he knows he should back up. He knows, but each inch of retreat hurts. 

He tries not to let it show. If this is what Tony needs, then, Bruce will give it to him.

But Bruce hesitates. He shifts in place, sparing a glance at Tony’s work. And just as he’s preparing to go, he hears Tony say, “Don’t.” 

Bruce swallows hard. Tony’s right. He shouldn’t be looking. They’ve been working on independent projects. Whatever Tony’s developing, it’s Tony’s business and no longer shared among the two of them.

Bruce turns away and he thinks Tony breathes a sigh of relief. Hulk feels heavy at his core. Heavier than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*Brooklyn 99 s4e12_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Bruce

**⁂** **  
****TONY**

Tony glances at his watch, the scowl on his face setting deeper as he notes the hour. Not quite 3. Any other day he'd ignore the clock. Any other day he'd plow on without a care. He'd mark quitting time based on Bruce's excuse to dip out of the lab.

Tony’s been pretending he doesn’t notice Bruce leaving the house - spending time on the rooftop, walking down the beach - sometimes staying out all night. Tony assumes he’s taking time to think, to meditate, but he doesn’t really know what it’s all about. Waiting up through the wee hours of morning has given Tony’s half-baked werewolf theories room to grow. 

What’s worse than Bruce getting cagey at night, however, is that when he’s around during the day, he’s closed off. He’s quiet. 

Tony thought Malibu would be good for the guy. Good for both of them. A trip taken in the heat of the moment, yes, but it was the surest way to get them both out of SHIELD’s grip, at least for a time. 

A brief repose while Tony attended to Stark International business: a meeting here, a benefit there. He thought Bruce would enjoy the peaceful isolation of shore living, the tranquility of ocean waves. But maybe bringing Bruce out here wasn’t the stroke of genius Tony had thought it was. (And as someone who does a lot of his own genius stroking, Tony is loathe to admit his error.)

At least tonight Tony knows it’ll be him stumbling into the house at sunrise o’clock (and not just Bruce). That’ll be more like what he’s used to - more like what the universe is used to - especially when he was more playboy than philanthropist. It’s odd being on the opposite end of things, being the one waiting in the dark. 

The screen in front of Tony blinks an angry red, startling him with alarms as the system protests his careless placement of a line of code. Tony takes a step back to see the bigger picture and wonders how he has wandered so far from this suit’s original design. It's enough of a challenge that it peels his thoughts away from Bruce.

He thinks that there has to be a way to get this tech right. His dreams don’t usually lie -- they also don’t give him algebraic formulas that make any sense, which is why Tony’s been stuck trying to figure out what the series of snakes and rats represent in this scramble. The rest of the armor fits together logically, however, so he thinks there must be a way for him to get the repulsors working in balance with the new dream-inspired design.

Tony doesn’t realize he has been standing idle at his station until he feels a tug at the hem of his shirt. He glances down, trying a one-eyed look. It’s best to pretend that at least some of his focus hasn’t been torn from his work. But when he sees Bruce’s forearms and wrists flexing as his hands move, there is no way Tony can focus on MRK-XLIII 2.0. 

Still, he can’t let Bruce know he’s crossed into ‘Tony’s side’ of the lab. That must be how Bruce considers it - Tony’s side - the way he avoids the area. Any movement on Tony’s part risks Bruce noticing what he is doing.

This. This invasion of space. It’s happened only a few times in Malibu, harkening back to their work relationship, back to their lab, in New York. Back before. _Before_. Tony has been wondering if people will always think of Bruce in this duality: ‘Bruce before’ and ‘Bruce after’. Bruce before gamma exposure and Bruce after he was split into a monster and a man. Bruce before that fateful Fourth and Bruce after his own team turned against him. 

Is it foolish of Tony to encourage a spark of hope that maybe, at least between the two of them, there doesn’t have to be such a divide?

Bruce is close enough that the fading smell of his cologne mingles with the acrid scent of whatever is bubbling at the chemist’s station. It’s a heady mix that fills Tony’s senses and stills his thoughts.

The glasses in Bruce’s hands are smudged with something stubborn. Tony knows from experience that his soft cotton band tee shirts would clean Bruce’s lenses better than the starched button-up Tony’s currently wearing. There is the added benefit, however, that it now takes twice as long for Bruce to unsmudge the glass. 

Bruce’s warm fingers brush Tony’s hip and Tony hopes his sharp intake of breath is inaudible. It's all he can do to keep himself from reaching out and pressing Bruce's hand flat against his skin. There is no way the armor upgrade could ever compare, could ever hope to drag Tony's attention back now. 

Tony's smile widens as Bruce runs his palm over Tony’s shirt. Bruce smoothes the fabric and Tony holds his breath wondering if Bruce is so caught up in thought that he’ll mindlessly tuck the tails into his waistband like he’d done that one time in the Tower. 

Bruce isn’t; he doesn’t. 

Tony can breathe again. But he would have been glad to go on breathless, if it meant Bruce's hands on him a little longer.

Bruce slips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and Tony winks at him, knowing his face will now be in focus, hoping it won’t scare him off, but helpless to stop himself from entertaining the fantasy that maybe, just maybe Bruce wants to be close. 

The tilt of Bruce’s head advertises his curiosity, like it is Tony who has shown up out of the blue, snuck into his personal space, and used his clothing as a tissue. Then Bruce blinks. Pulls back. And he’s taking quick strides back to his workstation, huddling over his own notebooks, scribbling away.

Tony sucks on his bottom lip as he watches Bruce lose himself again.

Dr. Banner and Tony Stark - working at opposite ends of the same small lab. They shouldn't. The ‘shop in the basement is better equipped for Tony's current project. Being on a different floor of the mansion would have sheltered Bruce from the surprise of yesterday’s explosion and the shock of any future mishaps. But, at least in New York, they had grown used to each other's presence, company, companionship. And Tony’s missed it. 

He’s missed the way Bruce would pause what he was doing to inquire after one of Tony’s whoops of victory. How he’d congratulate him when he’d nailed a tricky connection. He’s missed Bruce's satisfied sighs at getting that much closer to an answer, and the breaks they’d forced each other to take when progress seemed out of reach. 

Venting to each other never felt like waiting for their turn to speak. There was no need to dumb anything down. They could speak a mile a minute and check each other's work, share insights and pass along encouragement, lend out confidence when one's own was crumbling.

Even as fleeting as this latest exchange had been -- the smudge and polish, the touch and the wink -- it has Tony holding onto that long aforementioned maybe. Maybe, no matter how broken things are between Bruce and the rest of the team, he and Bruce can return to what they had.

Tony smiles at Bruce from across the room. As if sensing eyes on him, Bruce looks up. His hands pause over his flask. 

Tony watches the way Bruce's eyes crease in the corners and he imagines that - under the surgical mask he wears more to prevent contamination of his samples than to protect himself from fumes - Bruce is smiling back.

“What time is it?” Bruce asks, voice muffled.

Tony tries not to read too much into the check-in. So much like the routine they'd kept up for months until… God, was it only a week ago they'd come here?

Tony can't lose himself for too long; Bruce is waiting on an answer. 

Tony doesn’t rely on JARVIS anymore. He checks his watch and tells Bruce plainly, “2:37 PM Pacific Standard, Big Guy.” 

The two of them get caught up in their own little worlds when they’re working. And today, in this moment, Tony doesn’t want the reminder that their time together is coming to a close.

Tony never uses military time with Bruce. He gives most military related issues a Hulk-sized berth when he can help it. Which is why he has to bite back a cringe when Bruce asks his next question.

“What time are you going out with Ms. Potts?”

“Um, the benefit is at 7. I need to go over some details with Pep about the allocation of funds for the VA beforehand, and there’s LA traffic, blah blah. I’ll probably leave here around 4?” Tony hopes he’s speaking quickly enough that Bruce won’t dig his heels into anxiety over a ballroom full of soldiers and officers.

But Bruce doesn’t seem fazed. Instead he puts aside his notebook as he acknowledges Tony with an, “OK.” Then his fingers fly over his keyboard, transcribing his handwritten notes into a computer file. It’s only a minute before what’s on the screen takes shape in the air above the monitor.

Tony swallows hard as he watches Bruce wave over the schematics for the new gauntlets. He didn’t know Bruce had taken the time to look them over. He didn’t know Bruce was still accessing his files - the way they’d done _before_. 

“Y’know I see what you did there.” Bruce gestures at Tony’s work with his pen as he walks toward the center of the room. ”...με το πράγμα και το πράγμα.” It’s not quite evening, but he’s already squinting at the gold and blue lines hovering in the air. 

Coming close but not quite crossing the invisible boundary between biochemistry and mechanics, Bruce rubs his eyes and bends to view the hologram at a different angle. 

“I love it when you speak geek to me.” Tony says. He doesn’t want to make a big fuss, but Bruce hasn't given him more than two or three word answers since they left New York. 

Normally Tony can't get enough of when Bruce slips into other languages. After spending so much time on the run, Bruce has picked up a little bit of everything, it seems. And as someone who’s travelled the world for Stark Industries since he was a kid, it’s nice for Tony to have something other than English curling in his ear. 

With everything that's happened, this feels significant.

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches, the closest it’s come to a smile in a week, and Tony’s heart leaps. 

Bruce takes a step closer - to the hologram, to Tony. His chest is almost flush with Tony’s arm, and when Bruce exhales, Tony swears the breath ghosting his cheek is deliberate. But it wouldn't be. Such a thing is too much to hope for given how close Tony - and the Team - have come to losing Bruce altogether. 

If Tony wasn’t so chicken shit, he would talk to Bruce - about everything. About something. He’d ask for Bruce’s theories about Hulk’s actions on The Fourth. He’d ask Bruce to give the team a chance to prove they still trust both him and Hulk. He’d ask Bruce to fight against the restrictions SHIELD has unfairly placed upon him. 

Tony would ask him to come back to New York. He’d ask Bruce to work late nights in the lab again. He’d ask Bruce what it means when just the heat of him standing beside Tony stops his heart. 

If Tony wasn’t so chicken shit, he would have asked Bruce to dinner a long time ago. _Before._ _Dinner_ dinner. The kind of dinner that shouldn't scare him - Iron Man - but does. It really does. This four-letter word (that isn’t a filthy word at all but sure feels like it’s been perverted by all the half-assed fully-trashed ‘dates’ Tony has had over the years) terrifies him.

Well, at least Tony can’t mess that up tonight. A _dinner_ dinner is officially off the menu, thanks to Pepper and Stark Industries’ endless attempts at trying to right Tony’s wrongs. Even if he had asked Bruce to accompany him to the benefit, there is no way he would have agreed _before_. And there's no way he'd agree now. Acknowledging that sad fact makes it suddenly a struggle to keep the corners of his lips upturned.

Bruce makes a low sound in his throat as his fingers turn the image mid-air. “Isso foi no seu sonho?”

Damn, Bruce has to know what he’s doing, softening the question with the distraction of another tongue. Bruce knows about Tony’s nightmares, panic attacks. They look out for each other. That Bruce is still looking out for him after everything that's happened… another spark of hope that all is not lost. Tony has to be careful; too many of those could start a fire. 

“No, this wasn’t part of the dream,” Tony answers honestly, breaking away a section of the hologram and blowing it up to expose the most minute details. “That’s something I came up with after my first pot of coffee.” 

“Hmm." Bruce takes his time scanning Tony's code before returning his focus to the diagram. "Could be fun. The design is clean.” 

Tony suppresses his frown. He knows that it’s his own hesitancy to answer in French or Urdu - or any of the other languages they share - that has drawn Bruce back to English. But he can’t deny the excitement he feels just hearing Bruce speaking to him at all.

“Better than the mess you were working with yesterday.” 

So Bruce had been paying attention… to how much? For how long?

Bruce looks more intently at the hologram and Tony doesn’t know if he should interrupt. The 3-dimensional displays sometimes mess with Bruce’s eyes. Judging from the way Bruce is squinting and rubbing under his glasses, Tony thinks today may be one of those days. 

“Thanks," Tony says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s coming along." 

Maybe it wouldn't be terrible for them to spend Tony's last hour at the house catching up over a drink. Bruce is always in the mood for tea and Tony's been missing Long Island. "Do you want to take a break?”

“From what?”

“I don’t know. What is it you’re doing?”

Bruce chuckles. “Wondering what your mind would be capable of if it wasn’t soaked in Kahlua and espresso.”

Tony makes an appalled sound and Bruce is still chuckling. The sarcastic arch of his brow makes the call for teetotalism seem like a dare. Tony wants to punch him in the arm and call him an ‘asshole’ like he would with Rhodey, but he also wants to kiss his lips and find out what Bruce’s laughter tastes like.

“Don’t deny me caffeine, Brucie. You won’t like me when I’m tired.” Tony doesn’t mention the alcohol. It’s better he doesn’t. If he just doesn’t look at it, then the problem won’t be there. Like the distance that’s stood between them for days. Maybe Bruce chose not to look at it anymore. Maybe Tony should do the same.

Bruce’s nose crinkles, and his shoulders slow their bouncing until they’re still. His laughter quickly fades as he walks around the hologram continuing his inspection. 

Tony waits for Bruce to insinuate that he likes Tony just as well, tired or not, but the moment is gone. 

“I was thinking of getting a bite to eat on the way back from this dinner thing,” Tony says to keep them from falling back into silence.

“You were thinking of buying dinner on the way home from having dinner with...?” 

There’s a tightness in the muscles of Bruce’s neck and a new rigidity in his movements that has Tony lowering his own tools to the table. 

“You know I’m not _having dinner with Pep_ , right? It’s the veteran’s benefit. Happy’ll be there. Rhodey. And Steve’s gonna make some presentation on behalf of the DOD for-” Tony cuts himself off as he realizes that Pepper isn’t the problem. “None of those army assholes that hurt you are going to be there. We would never let any of Ross’s goons within a mile-”

“Just Steve.”

The hardness in Bruce’s voice lands like an elephant coming to sit upon Tony’s chest. “That’s… not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You’re comparing Captain America to General “Thundercunt” Ross? That maniac?”

“Steve said the Other Guy is a liability. That we put everyone in danger. His fear breeds paranoia in SHIELD. SHIELD! Do you know what they’re capable of? Do you know what they’ll do to Hulk… to me… if given a chance? Steve may have volunteered as a lab rat, but I’ll never. Not again.”

“Bruce, Steve was only trying-”

Bruce interjects, rounding on Tony so quickly his head spins. “Are you on his side?”

“What? No! No. I’m on your side. Hulk’s side. I’m…" Tony despairs that it's come to this. He knows Bruce is hurt and angry and so close to the truth about SHIELD trying to find ways to overpower Hulk, but Tony didn't dare think the rift between Bruce and the rest of the Avengers was so severe. "I’m here, aren’t I?”

Tony stops himself from continuing down that path. He promised himself that he would let Bruce talk about it on his own time. But the truth is, Bruce’s nightly absences are freaking the hell out of him. This first week in Malibu has been rough and if the second is shaping up for more of the same... 

If there were a wrench in his hand, Tony would throw it.

Bruce disappears. For hours. Sometimes until morning. And Tony waits up, tinkering in the ‘shop, beating old suits to hell with newer models. Recalibrating repulsors until the kickback from the blasts feels like it’ll take his own arm off, gauntlet or not. 

Then Bruce returns. The sun rises over the water and Bruce appears on the deck, skin dry with salt and sand but looking refreshed even though Tony thinks he hasn’t slept in days. At the sight of him, Tony’s fear and loathing give way to relief, then anger, then round back to self-hatred. Because Tony is sure he knows the reason Bruce stays away, he knows there is a lack of trust between them, and he hates that no matter how hard he tries to explain, he will always end up looking like the bad guy.

“I’m here,” Tony tells Bruce again, and it feels ridiculous to have to remind him of something so obvious. “And, yeah, tonight I’m going to that benefit. Because it’s my job, and because I owe a lot more to people than I can give, but I’m trying. 

So I’ll show my face knowing that most people in that room hate me - and with good reason. And I’m hoping that the VA won’t be _stupid_ enough to turn down my offer to help make things better... I’m going, Bruce, but I’m coming back.”

Bruce takes his time folding his arms over his chest. He chews the inside of his bottom lip the way he does so often when he’s trying to choose his words carefully. He says, “I’m not stupid,” and Tony wonders what Bruce is holding back. “And I don’t hate you. And I… I come back.”

Tony closes his eyes, but shutting out Bruce from his field of sight doesn't slow his own racing heart. “The benefit was put in the books months ago, Bruce. Before Loki and everything that came after. OK? It - the benefit - isn’t me choosing sides.” 

Tony spreads his arms wide toward the walls around them, wishing he could encapsulate the entirety of their retreat to Malibu with the gesture. “ _This_ is me drawing my line in the sand, alright? And everyone back at SHIELD knows it.”

Bruce doesn’t respond and Tony’s heart sinks. 

Tony drops his arms, turns back to his work station, and sighs, defeated. He claps his hands, collapsing the hologram before him, and shuts down his station. 

“You can have access to this stuff for as late as you need." He tries not to sound stilted, but it's hard when his jaw and his chest are this tight. 

Weeks ago they’d be working alongside each other until their brains and bodies itched for new stimuli. Those were the nights Tony really missed. The ones that ended with them in Tony’s living room, contented to unwind in a space of quiet companionship. Tony had never felt as quiet as he did while sitting at Bruce’s feet. 

He shouldn’t dwell on the thought. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then.

"I’m not gonna kick you out of the lab just because I have to waddle off in my penguin suit.”

Bruce draws in a deep breath, filling his lungs from the bottom up so his belly and chest expand long before his shoulders rise. “It’s OK, I don’t know why I assumed you’d leave later.”

And Tony has a similar thought. Why isn't he leaving later? What makes this meeting with Pepper so important he's letting it eat into the last minutes he has with Bruce before the man steps out of the mansion and into the dark again? Tony tells himself it's a show of faith - faith that Bruce will still be here when he gets home.

"I should get cleaned up."

Tony has one foot in the hall and his mind in the past when Bruce's voice brings him back.

"You're gonna be great tonight."

Tony wishes he could warm to Bruce's confidence. He wishes the quiet tone of the statement didn't make it sound so much like goodbye.

**⁂** **  
****BRUCE**

Something inside him rolls - like a puppy in a field, like a child down a hill - and Bruce thinks Hulk is missing the point. Doesn’t he see Tony’s still scared of them? Scared of how Bruce will react? Didn’t Hulk hear Bruce raise his voice?

Bruce feels Hulk huff in response, but it does little to convey if there is understanding. 

Tony still feels far away, but Bruce thinks that if he hadn't taken the risk and stepped into Tony's space, hadn’t given him suggestions for the gauntlets, they would have never broken the silence. Even an argument is better than nothing. 

Moreover, Bruce knows what precipitated everything. It was his move to Tony’s side. It was his hands on Tony’s shirt. It was his mindless surrender to a habit his unconscious brain should have gotten the memo to abandon. 

Marking Tony with the smudges from his glasses and fingertips - even briefly before he changed clothes - had felt important. Important like a reminder to Tony, to himself, that Bruce was there, _is_ _here_. That his intention is to stay put, even if the wall of anxious tension between them is hard to bear. 

Bruce shuts down his lab station, trading the large computer for his tablet. He can spare a few hours for research before sunset. Distract himself from the emptiness of the mansion, from the aching restlessness in his bones.

He’s been reading up on the latest in microneural biology. Especially with the weird shit his brain is up to, Bruce has been drawn to the work of one scientist in particular. One claiming to be on the brink of discovering what makes a person, a person. One Dr. Melinda Lucenstern. 

Bruce settles himself on the couch in the lounge. Tucks one socked foot under him while he glides the other over the hardwood. He misses the warmth his toes would steal when they snuck under Tony’s thigh. 

The instinct to reach down to Tony’s head, to fix his collar or ruffle his hair, is another hard habit to break. Bruce scratches his knee instead as if there were someone present from whom he needed to hide the fruitless reach of his hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see what you did there... με το πράγμα και το πράγμα. (...with the thing and the thing.)
> 
> Isso foi no seu sonho? (That was in your dream?)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve

**⁂**   
**STEVE**

Tony glides his way through the event like he was made for this. For all the hours spent in the boxing ring with Happy and the martial arts training Natasha runs for the team, this is Tony’s fight. Armed in Versace and using his connections to make things happen all over the world - for the good of the world. 

But tonight isn’t about Tony. Not really. At events such as this, the man behind the Stark name wishes he could fade into the heavy curtains draped around the windows and let them swallow him up in their velvet. Steve’s coaxed him away from enough bars, out of enough sunglasses, to know what’s going through Tony’s mind now. 

Tony worries this could take a turn. Tony knows what the mucky-mucks in here call him behind his back: Merchant of Death. He knows that no matter how much money he pours into Veterans Affairs, the world is still at war and Stark weapons are still in circulation. Not that Tony hasn’t tried to get them back. He’s decommissioned all he could, but there is so much left unaccounted for.

A hand lands on Steve’s shoulder, offering a hard squeeze to startle him out of his thoughts. Steve turns toward the interruption. “Colonel Rhodes.” 

“Cap.” Rhodes scans the room as he grabs a pair of champagne flutes from a passing waiter. “You found him yet?”

“Who?” Steve receives the proffered drink and touches it to his lips. It’s dry enough for his taste, but at these things it’s better to look like your drink is full rather than having people top it off every time you’re on empty.

“Tony, right? Isn’t that who you’re looking out for?”

_Looking out for Tony._ Steve thinks that’s a pretty accurate description of their friendship.

“I’m not used to being without the, uh,” Steve taps the side of his head to indicate the absence of a communicator. “He’s usually chatting my ear off.”

“Heh. We’ll have him in the flesh soon enough.” Rhodes leads them along the edge of the ballroom floor. They nod to the Secretary of Defense and shake hands with a few officers following a waiter passing around hors d'oeuvres. 

“Tony holds a grudge,” Rhodes says conspiratorially as they round the room. “But he’ll get over it. And when he does, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“Really?” That’s not the Tony that Steve knows.

Rhodes gives him a look of indignance. “No, not really. Are you kidding me, man? If Tony’s pissed at you, get ready to grovel.”

Now, that’s not the Steve that Tony knows. 

Steve shakes his head with a wry smile. “I don’t grovel.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Steve catches Tony’s eye across the room. Tony immediately sets his drink down and slowly makes his way toward him through the crowd. “I don’t grovel,” Steve repeats with emphasis.

Before Tony can reach them, however, Ms. Potts appears with a warm smile and her hand extended. “Thank you for agreeing to this, Captain Rogers. I know you’ve been busy. Your attendance here, the presentation of our successes overseas...”

“Not my first time through the parade, ma’am.” Steve knows what’s expected of him -- smile and wave. Rhodes sniffs beside him, another veteran of the U.S. Government’s horse and pony show. Being used by Stark Industries is just another drop in the bucket, and one that Steve doesn’t really mind.

Their handshake is short as Steve quickly spreads his attention around the room. Tables and chairs are spaced evenly around the edge of the open dancefloor where uniformed officers and their companions mill about. But Steve scans the crowd for the one man who got away. 

“Tony’s looking forward to seeing you,” she says, probably to keep up appearances. 

Eavesdroppers will be straining their ears for Captain America’s response to Ms. Potts. The tabloids have been all over Iron Man and Hulk’s sudden trip across country. The news reports noted the absence of the pair at the Avengers’ most recent kerfuffle with Fin Fang Foom. 

“When I spoke to him this morning, I expressed the same.” Steve knows Ms. Potts and Tony are close, but he doubts Tony’s told her that Steve’s checked in on him every day since he and Dr. Banner cut outta town. 

“I believe you even requested I save you a dance, is that not right?” Tony materializes behind Steve and tucks himself up against his arm. Ms. Potts is biting back the kind of laughter that says Tony had been standing there for quite some time. 

She spares a glance at Tony, giving him a look that only he would understand, and suddenly, the levity is gone. Steve hates their secret language. He hated it before he and Tony were an item. He hated it during. And he certainly hasn’t warmed to it yet. 

It’s not envy. It’s outright disdain. He’s not stupid, not blind to the way they speak without speaking. The least they could do is tell him outright what is really going on between them. 

He considers throwing his head back to release the dramatic sigh he’s holding back. But he’d never let these strangers witness a slip in his smiling composure. He considers having a drink, but not in front of Tony. Instead, he extends the man his hand. “Would you do me the honor?” 

Ms. Potts slips her hand into Steve’s instead. “This is probably a better idea. Don’t you think?” 

Steve narrows his eyes at her. She’s always so hard to read. Guarding herself. Protective of Tony. Not unlike Steve, but maybe too similar to allow for an easy friendship between the Captain and the CEO. Steve gives a nod and turns his 100 watt smile to Tony. With a playful shrug, Steve leads Ms. Potts out to the floor. 

“Really, Captain, you can’t give in to everything Tony wants.”

_Oh, if only she knew the things Tony wanted - what he begged for. All of the things he got and all of the things he didn’t._ Sometimes it breaks Steve’s heart to think about all of Tony’s wants for which he couldn’t provide, but he thinks he was able to give Tony what he needed. For a time. 

Steve sends Ms. Potts for a slow turn, out and in, before returning her to their waltz. “Tabloids change their stories with the wind. I didn’t care when the papes reported Tony choosing Banner over the team. Dr. Banner won’t care that the gossip pendulum has swung again.”

Pepper lifts a perfectly sculpted brow.

“I need to talk to him,” Steve tells her. “Don’t try to come between us, now.”

“Me? To think that I had anything to do with the problems that lie between the two of you.” Ms. Potts wears a soft smile for the crowd, but her eyes are hardened steel. “Whatever is going on with the Avengers has nothing to do with me.” Her grip on Steve’s shoulder tightens, just a fraction. “I’m out of that game. I don’t know and I don’t ask.”

“But you care.”

“I care about Tony,” she clarifies, not breaking eye contact. “Not Iron Man.” 

Steve’s heard that line before - from Tony himself. But he doesn’t believe she truly feels that way. “Ms. Potts-”

“Pepper.”

“... Pepper. With all due respect, if you don’t know what went on in New York, you really can’t pass judgment on what’s going on right now.”

“Steve-” if he didn’t like her calling him Captain before, he thinks he hates the way she says his name now, with pity. “I know Tony better than you could ever possibly hope.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” But then Steve sees it, the wisdom in her eyes, the knowing calm behind her patient smile. Of course, she knows Tony. Really knows him. But she hasn’t guessed the truth about Steve. Not that he can tell. 

Steve steps closer as he turns her on the dancefloor, pulling her in with a hand on the small of her back, and bringing his lips to her ear. “Someone had to take your place when you found Happy. Who do you think that was?”

When he pulls back to meet her gaze, he’s surprised to find Happy at their side. He misses her reaction completely.

“Captain America, sir, do you mind if I take my fiancée back?”

“Not at all, Mr. Hogan. We were just talking about you. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I will. You as well, of course.”

It isn’t hard to find Tony after that. He’s standing at the bar, looking like he hadn’t taken his eyes off of Steve and Ms. Potts since they left him alone at their table. 

“Is that for me?” Steve asks, gesturing to the glass of Jack and coke at Tony’s lips.

Tony draws his mouth into a hard line. “No.”

“Is that how tonight is going to be, Tony?”

“You tell me.”

Steve can’t do this. Not here, not now. If he lets Tony walk all over him, it’ll cause a scene - and not one either of them will enjoy. Exhibitionism wasn’t their thing when they were together. It certainly isn’t in their best interest now. “Give me my drink. We should sit. Talk.”

“I’d rather-”

“Tony.”

Tony drinks the last of his glass and signals the bartender for another. Steve grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and swallows his chastisement. Taking the refreshed cup from Tony’s hand, Steve breathes away his frustration. “I’ll show you to our table.”

Tony rolls his eyes and falls in line. 

The glass sits in front of Steve, untouched, as he drags conversation out of Tony. It’s like pulling teeth.

“How are you?”

Tony picks at the tines of his fork.

“Well, I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Really?” Tony asks in feigned shock. “What tipped you off? Was it the snoring during your speech or the dozen voicemails I left you?”

“You keep calling me between the hours of three and six and you will continue to get my voicemail. You know that. If you need to get in touch with me during those times - for an emergency - you can go through JARVIS or SHIELD.” 

Tony has always said he wanted parameters, rules, structure, but only so he could break them. Steve doesn’t play that game with him anymore.

“How are things with Dr. Banner?”

“Well, you shot him, so… not so good.” Tony takes the cloth napkin from under the silverware and lays it across his lap as the entrees are served. 

“I didn’t shoot him. Barton took down Hulk. With a tranq. A tranquilizer Dr. Banner developed himself.”

“Not to be used on him,” Tony’s fork clatters against his plate, “not to be used like that.”

“Yes, Tony. Barton says he was well within the parameters Dr. Banner set himself.”

“You weren’t there. Not really. _You_ didn’t see and _he_ wasn’t looking. Hawkeye, my ass... I was fine. I was gonna be fine.” 

Steve had hoped he would get somewhere with Tony tonight. And Dr. Banner. He hoped it would get them somehow closer to returning to the team. But the night is shaping up to be a waste of time - a three-hours-in-an-antique-war-uniform waste of time. A ‘three hours in an antique war uniform, plus four hours on the Quinjet, plus who knows how long in transit back to Brooklyn’ waste of Steve’s goddamn time. 

When Rhodes joins them at the table, all Steve can do is breathe a sigh of relief. “Everything OK over here?” the colonel asks.

Tony raises his water glass and takes a long drink. “It’s all coming up daisies, my friend. How about you? Convince enough schmucks to line their pockets with green yet?”

Rhodes exchanges an unimpressed look with Steve, but sober Tony with an attitude is still superior to drunk Tony with no filter at all. “Just how much sweet talking did you get done today?”

“Well, I managed to navigate around a few thinly veiled threats and about a dozen stories about how my weapons were the make-or-break point of encounters overseas… then Stevie here put me in Time Out.”

“Oh? And how’s the old boy treating you these days?” Rhodes is enjoying this too much.

Tony glares at Steve. Paired with the obstinate way the heel of Tony’s shoe digs into Steve’s toes, the look is a dare. “Not as well as I had imagined.”

Steve rubs his eyes. Tony’s asking for a consequence, daring Steve to dole one out. Some days that feels like all Steve is good for, barking orders in the training room until Tony’s muscles are trembling. 

Steve thinks Tony needs to be held down or strung up. In bindings he’d be easier to control; it’d be easier for Tony to let go. But Tony refuses -- the restraints feel too much like captivity, he says. And so, if Tony doesn’t want to be still, Steve makes sure he’s always on the move. “Do you really wanna get outta here, Tony?”

“I wanted out before I even stepped foot in this place.”

Steve knows that’s the truth, but he didn’t think Tony was going to put up this much resistance to the benefit itself. He’s attended these all his life. 

Ms. Potts approaches, placing her hands on the back of Rhodes’ chair with a smile. Noting Tony pushing himself up to leave, she tells him to stop and he freezes in place. 

Steve bites his tongue. Even after months working with Tony, it's rare for him to follow his instruction without additional prompting. When she suggests he should spend the night at her home, it is an invitation Steve can’t match. But neither can he let it slide. “... you could take our spare room,” she says, the authority in her voice carrying concern. “You look exhausted.”

An appraisal of Tony’s features tells Steve she’s right. Tony looks like a dead man walking.

Tony stifles a yawn in his fist. Damn the power of suggestion. Steve rises from his chair readying himself to counter her offer with a night at a hotel, when Tony says, “I’m fine.” 

“Really,” she says, unconvinced. “Stay, then, at least for a coffee. They have a venetian hour to die for.”

Happy’s arrival with a tray of coffees and a platter of desserts so obviously nabbed from a waiter brings out small smiles from each of them at their table.

“Oh,” Tony says while reaching for biscotti, “well, anything for a cookie.” Tony pulls out a chair beside him and ushers Pepper into the seat as Happy sets down the trays.

Steve notices Happy’s confident smile as he observes the gesture and wonders if there was ever a point when the two men had shared Pepper’s affections.

Happy sets down milk, sugar, and a little bottle of Irish Cream. Steve delights at Tony’s choice to sip his coffee black. 

Steve can tell Tony is sober enough to drive; he’d never allow Tony to get behind the wheel if he wasn’t. Tony would never let himself… But a little coffee isn’t a bad idea. It’s getting late and Tony was up all night; Steve can read it in the bags under his eyes, his short temper, and the drag in his step.

  
Tony helps Steve into his own chair next, and Steve tries to miss Ms. Pott’s knowing smile. She assumes Tony made an error by attending to her first. She wants to know what Steve is going to do about it. _Not a damn thing._ It’s not his place, not his responsibility anymore. 

Steve drapes his arm along the back of Tony’s chair and smiles. “Thank you,” he whispers approval to Tony just loud enough for Pepper to hear. “Who says chivalry has to die with feminism?” 

Ms. Potts lifts an eyebrow as if to say touché and Steve considers that maybe her unspoken language isn’t so hard to read after all. 

Happy opens up conversation with a big smile and an excited gush over the sfogliatelle. He passes the tray and waves over a server to ask for a few extra decanters of coffee for the table.

“Oh,” he says quickly, as if just remembering something of dire importance. He takes a sip from his cup before continuing. “I almost forgot to wish ya a happy birthday, Cap, Steve, Captain Rogers. Or happy Fourth of July. Or whatever you… I’m not really sure what that whole…” Happy scratches his cheek in confusion. “That’s not your actual birthday, is it?”

Steve gives Happy a good-natured shrug. 

“”Well, happy… y’know.”

Steve suppresses his frown; it hadn’t been a happy day at all.

“It’s a shame Dr. Banner couldn’t come to this thing,” Mr. Hogan continues. 

“I don’t think this is really his scene,” Tony responds with a tight smile. 

If Steve had to guess, Tony’s attention is on a 60-30-10 split. 10% focus on the conversation at hand, 30% of his mind ever-swirling with background noise related to his latest projects, and 60% trying to come up with a plan to get himself out of this situation. 

“Speaking of coming,” Tony says, “I should get going.”

_There it is._

Ms. Potts lets out a huff of frustration, but there’s no heat to it. “You could give the guy some space, you know. Stay at our place. A night apart wouldn’t hurt.”

“Excuse me?” Tony turns to Ms. Potts with a frown that advertises, yes, a night apart from Banner _would_ hurt. 

“It’s a lot; don’t you think? When you moved him into the Tower he had a floor to himself. But then you dragged him to Malibu and now you're living on top of each other.” 

Steve doesn’t like the way this conversation is going, but Tony can stand up for himself. And Ms. Potts is right, Steve doesn’t know Tony’s relationship with her - not completely.

“I didn’t _drag_ him.” Tony says, and Steve believes the words just as much as he does. Bruce can’t be dragged anywhere. He does what he wants and all of them are lucky - so lucky - that Dr. Banner hasn’t chosen to run. As long as Tony can convince him to stick around there’s hope he’ll return to the team.

But in agreeance with Ms. Potts, even Happy lifts his hand, twisting his palm this way and that. “Ehh. It kinda looks like ya dragged him, Tone.” Happy’s response doesn’t surprise Steve and it shouldn’t surprise Tony. These days, Happy always takes her side.

Tony scoffs. “We enjoy each other’s company.”

“You hover around him like a satellite. It’s exhausting to watch.” Ms. Potts’ opinions carry more weight with Tony than Steve likes to admit, but on this, Tony adamantly disagrees. “Can I give you some advice on Bruce?”

“On Bruce? Nope, I don't think so.” 

Steve wonders what Ms. Potts could possibly say about Dr. Banner that Tony wouldn’t already know. There’s no one who knows Banner as well as Tony. Maybe not even Bruce himself. 

Ok, well, maybe Bruce himself. 

“You can be… a lot,” Ms. Potts says it like she’s speaking from personal experience. Which is ridiculous. Tony is the perfect amount. If Steve felt any attraction toward him, he would… but, no. Friendship is all he can offer. All he could really give him back when their friendship came with very specific benefits. 

But benefits that had to end. 

Steve only hopes that Tony can find someone more suitable to his tastes. He deserves that much. And if Steve ever finds someone who… never mind all that. What they had worked, until it didn’t. They even managed to remain friends after the ‘extras’ dissolved, and that’s all that matters.

Ms. Potts continues, and Steve can tell she isn’t trying to be indelicate, but my god! “If you overwhelm him at the house, there's no one around to-”

“Overwhelm?” Tony looks to Steve. It’s a fleeting glance, but the first eye contact he’s made with him since they sat for coffee. “No, we _whelm_ each other just the right amount, I'd say.”

Steve wonders what that means. 

“He moved into your home, your lab. Give him some space, Tony.”

“As you say, he works in _my_ lab, shouldn't he be the one giving me space?” 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. No one fears Dr. Banner’s absence as much as Tony. If Tony has spoken such a thing into existence, Steve knows the Iron Man will fire a repulsor blast into his own foot. 

“You moved his equipment to your floor accidentally on purpose,” Ms. Potts says with a light chuckle. “Your co-dependence is pathological.” She slides her hand over Happy’s and accepts the curl of his fingers intertwining with her own. 

Steve has had enough. He opens his mouth to speak, but Happy leans forward, his expression pure sympathy for a dear friend.

“Are you that lonely, Tone?”

And that hurts. Tony isn’t supposed to feel lonely.

Tony presses his fingers along the ridge of his brow. Steve wants to reach out, lay a hand on his back. But he doesn’t want to pressure Tony into a lie.

“Bruce and I work better together. He- Look, I don't have to explain myself. I’m glad things are going well for you guys, but that doesn’t make you suddenly experts on relation… ship… friend stuff.”

Steve sits up straighter. Considers Tony’s halting speech. And his heart sinks. _Anyone but him, Tony._ He tries not to let his worry show. _Anyone but him._

Happy continues with an oblivious or knowing smile. It’s hard to get a read on these people who have known Tony for so much longer than the year Steve has known him himself. “If this is weird for you, Tone… I don't mean to push our relationship in your face. I know Pepper was yours first-”

“Excuse me,” Ms. Potts slaps Happy square in the chest with her free hand, but she remains content holding his hand in her other. “ _I_ never belonged to either of you.”

Tony jumps up, finger guns a-blazin’. “And _that’s_ my cue to leave. Rhodey, it’s been an absolute shit show. And my pleasure to be used by the U.S. military as a punching bag full of money.”

Rhodes rubs his forehead and waves Tony off like he’s heard it all before, like he’s enjoyed watching the circus from the peanut gallery.

“Stevie?” Tony straightens his lapels and smoothes his jacket before turning to his friend. “How about we blow this popsicle stand?”

“Gladly.” There are things they need to talk about before Steve lets him go back home, back to Dr. Banner. There are things Tony needs to understand about control and how much Dr. Banner contends with already. Tony needs to understand that he can’t will someone into a role they aren’t ready to play. No matter how smitten Tony is with the idea, someone with Dr. Banner’s temperament could never be the Dom Tony deserves. 

Steve hopes he’s misreading the situation, he hopes he’s reading too much into Tony’s words. But Tony whips out his phone, Banner’s contact information pops up on the screen, and Steve despairs. 

As he turns away from the table, eyes still on his phone, Tony bumps into a guest, a soldier, one of the veterans. Steve reaches out to hold Tony back, but he still ends up giving the man’s toes a good stomping. 

“Oh.” The veteran’s arm shoots out to grab onto something to regain his balance. His hand finds purchase at Tony’s shoulder. Steve notices silver fingers of metal over the fabric of Tony’s black jacket. “Oh, excuse me, Mr. Stark,” the man mumbles. His voice is soft and his eye contact is poor. 

“No, I’m sorry.” Tony shuffles back until he’s pressed against Steve’s chest. He glances backward as if to check who he bumped into, but his eyes quickly return to the man at his front. “I didn’t mean to, um… Are you alright?”

“Sure, sure. Don’t worry.” The man’s shy grin is lopsided, but as his eyes flick up to meet Tony’s, the light in them seems genuine. “I was limping long before you stepped on my foot.”

“Jesus. Sorry.” Tony rubs at his shoulder after the man releases it. “That sucks.”

Steve wants to pinch him for being so uncouth, but he figures the prosthetic’s vice grip on his shoulder is pain enough. 

The nameless veteran smooths his hair back and his eyes go wide. “Never took you for a man of many apologies.”

“Really?” Tony lets out a sound of disbelief. “I feel like apologizing is all I seem to be doing nowadays.” 

The man nods before lifting his empty glass. “Well, I better get back to my squad. They, uh, get a little restless.”

“Have a good night, sir. And, um, thank you for your service.”

With a tight smile that reads far more like a cringe, the man nods again before walking away.

“Well, that was awkward.”

“Was I _not_ supposed to thank him for serving? Look at all he lost, not to mention the things we don’t see. People. A sense of security. Peace of mind.”

The faraway look in Tony’s eyes has Steve thinking this is a lot less about the veteran and a lot more about Tony’s own trauma. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” It’s hard to gauge Tony’s state of mind. The man lives his life running on all cylinders; Steve doesn’t need him driving even more distracted than usual.

“Don’t think so.” Tony excuses himself through the crowd toward the ballroom doors leaving Steve to play catch up. 

With a smile plastered to his face, Steve hurries at Tony’s side, whispering through his teeth. “You’ve been drinking. I’ll drop you off. I’m not asking to go in.”

“Drunk,” Tony scoffs and it’s like he doesn’t care who notices. So, yes, it feels like confirmation that Tony’s on the wrong side of tipsy to be getting behind the wheel of a car. 

Tony goes on, “That’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? I speak up for myself at one of these things and I must be drunk.” Tony pushes the door open, still gentlemanly enough to hold it open for Steve before approaching the valet. He hands his tag to the attendant and steps out from under the awning to wait. 

The moonlight catches the shine of Tony’s eyes and Steve can see they’re not glassy with drink but hardened by impatience. “I’m fine.” Tony’s hands reach for his breast pocket, no doubt seeking the sunglasses he wears to hide. But finding only a pocket square, Tony fans the folded fabric and drops his hands again. “I’m not letting you anywhere near that house.”

“Because of Dr. Banner?” Steve can read Tony’s frustration just fine; he knows it’s not the best strategy to engage in an argument, but he’s angry, too. The Avengers have been sitting on their hands for the better part of August since Tony stormed off to Malibu. And Tony’s given no indication for a plan to return. “I’m just trying to get you home safely, Tony. How would he feel if-?”

Tony’s speaking close and his breath is coffee-foul, but Steve is surprised to find not a hint of alcohol on it. “You want to talk about safety now? About how he feels?”

“I want things the way they were,” Steve clarifies. “We all do.”

“You’re right. Our ignorance was bliss.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you showed your true colors when you backed SHIELD’s plans. You may be OK with being their little lab rat, but you had no right letting them make that proposal to Bruce.”

“If I could have stopped them-”

Tony is close enough that Steve can see his eyes glistening with unshed tears of rage. “You should have warned him! You should have told me!”

“I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t want him to run.”

The color drains from Tony’s face and Steve takes his arm to steady him. He doesn’t have to say it. Steve knows this is Tony’s fear. And if Tony has developed feelings for Dr. Banner, then his fear has increased ten-fold. If Dr. Banner leaves, Tony won’t just be fearing Bruce’s safety on the run; he’ll suffer the pain of being left behind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony

**⁂** **  
****TONY**

Tony lets himself into the house, shrugging off his argument with Steve. It was to be expected; these days it’s rare for them to have a conversation that doesn’t end with raised voices and rushed goodbyes met with the silence of a dropped call. 

Tony sends a text to let Bruce know that he’s home and listens for footsteps, for a shout to let Tony know where he is. When none comes, Tony tries not to think too much about the absence of immediate response. It’s a big house. And what did he expect, the man to be waiting at the door with a _Welcome Home_ sign? 

Though the lights are bright on the main level it appears to be empty. And a quick glance at his tablet shows the monitors of the lab - no signs of life there. 

It’s more ominous than it has to be; Tony knows he can ask JARVIS what Bruce is doing, but he hates invading his friend’s privacy. Bruce is home - here - that’s what matters. JARVIS would have let Tony know otherwise.

Tony wanders the kitchen with one eye on the Stark Pad in his hand. He devotes the other half of his energy to the search for his favorite pair of tins: coffee and cookies. He even grabs a bag of peppermints - a candy he’s kept well-stocked since he discovered they’re Bruce’s favorite. 

Tony figures he can carry a tray into the living room for himself and Bruce. Because if Bruce really is home, then he’s probably working on something - filling a notebook with summaries of his research on miracle medicines or crocheting tiny hats for the NICU - and maybe he’ll be interested in some company. 

But, no, that was _before_. If Bruce is in the living room now, at this time of night, then that means he hadn’t stayed out, perhaps he hadn’t even gone out. And, despite all of that, he hasn’t sent a text to acknowledge the receipt of Tony’s last. 

Tony logs into his project profile for MRK-XLIII 2.0 as he grabs his mug from the cabinet. Anything to get his mind off of Steve lecturing him on his duties as Iron Man.

Tony doesn’t need anyone telling him he carries a share of the world’s safety on his shoulders. It’s that understanding that fuels him for armor upgrades, even now.

There’s a new file in 2.0’s folder. Bruce has made suggestions for the redesign. Notes on underwater propulsion efficiency, suggestions on how to improve grip strength. 

“Sonofagun.” Tony yawns into his elbow before placing a second mug onto the counter. As he scrolls through Bruce’s calculations, he chuckles to himself. The ideas are interesting, good, feasible; the practical testing would be fun. Tony rubs his neck and he knows that things would be better, the design would come together even more smoothly, if Bruce had been pulled into the project from the start.

Tony’s eyes water as he scrolls through the file. The coffee he drank at the gala only did so much. With so many new blueprints to work on, Tony is going to need a real caffeine boost. He can hardly contain his excitement. He'll have to stay up a week straight to put a dent in the list Bruce has made for him. 

Tony regards the seldom used espresso machine curiously and considers the challenge.

Just as he pulls the last drops of his double shot from the machine, Tony hears a thud from the lower level lab. He thinks of Dum-E and U and wonders which of those butterfingered bots have trapped themselves in a corner.

Tony takes quick strides across the dining area to investigate. Another thud and a persistent beep, however, have Tony sprinting down the stairs. Those aren’t the sounds of a bot in distress. Tony would recognize Bruce’s heart rate monitor amid a symphony of alarms. 

_Shit._ Tony’s elbow collides with the rail, but holding onto the espresso cup is the least of his worries. Dum-E regularly scrubs oil stains from the rug; a coffee spill shouldn't pose a problem.

In the living room beyond the lab, Tony finds Bruce lying on the couch, clawing at the cushions above his head and thrashing as if struggling against unseen tethers. Bruce is fighting... a transformation? a memory? He’s fighting something in his dreams. Though he’s still a safe shade of Banner, Bruce’s watch is going off more urgently than Tony has ever heard it -- and Bruce isn’t waking up.

Tony approaches, wiping clammy palms on his pants. He shrugs out of his tuxedo jacket and tosses it aside without a second thought. His eyes, his focus, are on Bruce alone.

Despite every scenario for which they’ve planned - as lab partners and Avengers, they’ve planned many - there isn’t any protocol for this. _This_ isn’t supposed to happen. Hulk should have stepped in by now. That’s what he does - guards Bruce from the horrors his mind has shut away, the ones too difficult for Bruce to face. Hulk takes over when Bruce is in distress - it’s one of the reasons why Bruce only takes short naps, to avoid nightmares that would trigger a change. 

But Bruce isn’t waking at the alarms and Hulk hasn’t taken over and Tony isn’t sure what to do.

At Bruce’s side, he speaks clear and low. “Big Guy, this is Tony.” 

Especially when unsure whom he’s addressing, Tony calls them Big Guy - it’s neutral. Neither Hulk nor Bruce mind it. It’s safe. 

“I don’t know what to do here.” As he makes his confession, Tony lays his hand over Bruce’s forehead. It’s burning up. Tony would grab a washcloth, some ice, if he could bear to leave Bruce’s side. 

“I need you to wake up so we can get your heartrate down.” Steadily and cautiously, Tony coaxes Bruce’s left hand from its death grip on the couch cushion. If he can keep an eye on the watch pulsometer, he can monitor Bruce’s state one way or the other.

Whatever headspace in which Bruce is trapped must be full of anguish. Bruce takes harsh breaths through clenched teeth. The veins in his neck and face strain with the effort it takes to hold in his screams. 

“Wake up. Bruce, wake up. It’s Tony. We’re in Malibu.” Tony states facts as he glances between Bruce’s face and his watch. Bowing his head until it’s beside Bruce’s ear, his forehead resting upon the cushion, Tony whispers, “You’re home.” 

Tony starts rambling until he’s not even sure what he’s talking about. The history of the Tower in New York. His mother’s preference for granite over marble. The last Stark butler - the one who had known Tony’s parents before the accident - the original Mr. Jarvis who at times felt more like a father than his own. All the while, Tony’s head remains down, his eyes locked on the readings of Bruce’s vitals.

Eventually, a second voice interrupts. “Family isn’t a great subject, Tony,” Bruce says groggily, and Tony sits back on his heels with an audible sigh of relief. 

Tony hasn't been paying attention to anything but the numbers blinking on Bruce’s wrist and the color of Bruce’s palm against his own. He wonders how long Bruce has been awake and listening to him babble.

“I didn’t mean to...” When Tony lets go of Bruce, Tony sees his hands are trembling as much as his voice. He knows about Bruce’s father. How Brian treated his wife and son; what Brian did to Rebecca; what Bruce finally did to Brian at Rebecca’s grave. Tony knows he should have censored himself, especially in such a volatile moment. But, perhaps, that’s what brought his friend back. “Were you dreaming of them?”

Bruce shakes his head and groans as he sits up. 

Tony stays where he is, on his knees, long enough to feel the ache of his bones on the stone. He won’t leave Bruce alone after this episode, whatever the nightmare was. Call him selfish, but Tony doesn’t want to be alone, either. Bruce’s shin is a solid line along his side and it takes all of Tony’s resolve not to wrap an arm around it, not to hug Bruce to his chest. 

The feel of Bruce’s fingers running through Tony’s hair is right and wrong all at once. Though Tony doesn’t want to give up the touch, he thinks he should be the one soothing Bruce. 

One look at Bruce’s face, however, tells Tony the gesture is doing that just fine. The scene reminds Tony of the anxious moments Pepper took his head into her lap and the restless nights Steve wouldn’t. The touches fill his heart and his head with questions he has no right to ask. Tony counts the strokes of Bruce’s fingers over his scalp preparing for the inevitable moment Bruce will pull away. 

Bruce's hand stills before it drops from Tony's hair to his cheek. Bruce runs his thumb under Tony’s healing scar and his frown returns. “You don’t have to-”

_Stay?_ Tony thinks that word completes the unfinished question. It’s so far from the truth that Tony doesn’t hesitate to crawl onto the couch. Of course he has to stay; if Tony leaves Bruce now he's sure his chest will collapse. Tony doesn’t plan on going anywhere.

Under the guise of brushing hair from Bruce’s sweat-damp forehead, Tony gives in to his need to _touch._ He mirrors the way Bruce’s fingers had touched him only a moment ago. Bruce holds his breath and Tony wonders if he’s not permitted to return the affection. 

Maybe it's only OK to accept what’s given. Maybe it's only OK to offer soft touches when Bruce is waking in rubble and ash and needs to know he's safe. But Tony wants Bruce to know it's OK to need safety nets even when the world isn't crumbling under your feet. 

Tony tucks another tuft of salt-and-pepper hair over the curve of Bruce's ear. After an agonizing moment during which Tony fears he'll have to pull away, Bruce releases a weary sigh. Bruce takes Tony’s hand down to his lap before letting it go.

The number on the pulsometer is slowly dropping, but Bruce’s heart is beating so hard Tony thinks he can hear it. 

“What happened?” Tony asks when Bruce’s pulse has long since been within normal range. 

Bruce wets his lips, bites them, and takes a deep breath before speaking. He doesn’t open his eyes. The mark of trust between them is palpable - it has been, to Tony, for a long time. 

“Did you know it was my own hubris that made me this way?”

“What way?” Tony doesn’t put on a smile because he doubts Bruce has any intention of opening his eyes. “Stupid-smart and devilishly handsome?” It may sound like a joke, but Tony means every compliment. He always has. 

Bruce scowls and turns toward the small fireplace that’s more for show than use. “Made me a monster, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t know how to get through to Bruce that he is so far from being a monster it’s ludicrous for him to keep comparing himself to one. 

“Hey,” Tony says softly. The decision to start the night with cola and move on to black coffee was the best he could have made. Tony wouldn't be able to handle this conversation drunk. “Hey-” Tony wishes he could make Bruce believe “-you aren’t that.”

Bruce shakes his head again, but this time his shoulders are shaking as well. “I thought… No, I _knew_ my work on the vita radiation was ready; was right... I was working on a successor to Project: Rebirth. But they set me up.” Bruce wipes his hands over his face and goes to hold his hands there again as if to shield himself from the memory. “I never should have experimented on myself.”

Gently, Tony takes Bruce’s hands in his own. Tony knows the only reason both of Bruce’s hands have come to rest on Tony’s lap are because Bruce is allowing it. Seeing his friend so vulnerable threatens to crush Tony’s heart. “They’re the monsters, Bruce.”

“I thought the experiment had gone horribly wrong.” Bruce looks over at Tony, his brown eyes callous with disbelief. “They told me… they said... it went ‘horribly right’. And then-” 

“They’re the monsters.” Tony says again. “You, the Big Guy…” He doesn’t know what compliment to give, which confession fits in a moment of despair. He settles for: “You’re all right. You guys are heroes.”

Bruce opens his mouth to argue but the words seem to catch in his throat. There’s a distant look in his eyes, like he’s turned inward, and Tony wonders - not for the first time - if Bruce can communicate with Hulk in any meaningful way. He wonders if that’s what is happening right now.

“Bruce. Why didn’t you change?”

Bruce blinks rapidly, as if fighting off the need to doze. Then, he's back. “Hm?”

“The dreams. I thought the Big Guy comes out during nightmares, but you slept straight through the pulsometer alarms and when I came in you were barely off-color.”

“Oh, it’s…” Bruce closes his eyes. “It wasn’t my nightmare.”

“You gonna explain how that works?”

Bruce shrugs; the gates of his control may as well clatter and clang as they lock back into place. “It was _Hulk_. An encounter with A.I.M. and Abomination. The Other Guy was the one having the nightmare, I guess. So, I didn’t change. I let him…”

“Let him what?” 

“I don't know.” Bruce has donned the casual stoicism he wears as easily as he would his lab coat. Even so, he’s talking. He’s talking openly about Hulk in a way that doesn't start or end with a plan to destroy him and Tony counts that as a positive. “I don’t know.” Bruce’s ignorance sounds like a half-truth until he continues. “Hide, I guess.”

_Hide._ Tony’s fingers curl in his lap, remembering the behemoth crouched behind a hill of plaster and stone. Is Bruce acknowledging that Hulk experiences fear as well as anger? This has to be some kind of breakthrough.

“You never told me how it all goes down. The change. Co-habitation. The co-existence you guys maintain.”

Bruce tips his head back slowly, both hands reaching up to press fingers to the curve of bone under his eyes. “I don’t know how much maintaining we’ve been doing recently.”

“What does that mean? You were sleeping and still you didn’t change a shade. You’ve got a tight lid on this thing.” Tony doesn't think it's a lie. Monitoring Bruce’s vitals alongside his own is second nature. And Bruce has been well in control since Loki’s magic wand cast its spell. Even on The Fourth; something stopped Hulk from hurtling into a full rampage that night. Tony doesn’t believe Hulk had been out of Bruce’s control. 

Tony doesn’t mention how much easier it must have been to 'stay Bruce' when hiding from world governments in backwater towns. He doesn’t mention it, because he doesn’t _know_ if it was easier, if it _could_ be easier. He doesn’t want to tempt Bruce with the thought of testing the theory.

Tony clenches his fists at his sides as the urge to placate his friend grows.

Bruce slips out from Tony’s reach as he stands. “You should get some sleep.”

Tony’s pout is only half a put-on. “You made notes on my gauntlets. I made espresso and brought out the granny candy for you. I fully intended on staying up all night to test your theories.”

Bruce squints and tilts his head with a familiar curiosity that sparks Tony’s hope. 

“I thought you’d want to play with me.” It feels like forever since they’ve shared a lab at night.

“Tony.” Bruce’s tone is a warning. Nevertheless, Tony is as captivated by Bruce’s sharp gaze as he is by the sound of his name on Bruce’s tongue.

Tony backs down. “I guess a few hours of beauty sleep wouldn’t hurt. You sure you’re gonna be alright on your own?” 

Bruce’s eyebrow lifts into its wonderful curve. “I’ve been on my own most of my life.”

“Yeah, but,” Tony licks his lips as he stalls for time to stir up enough courage to say what he hopes Bruce knows is true, “you don’t have to be.”

Bruce gives a short nod from where he stands and Tony realizes he’s waiting for him to move. Having Bruce watch him so carefully somehow calms the nervous buzzing inside him and replaces it with something else. The something else leaves Tony’s cheeks hot as he pushes himself up off of the sofa. 

“Ok, then.” Tony figures they’ve likely driven their chat as far as it will go. If Bruce doesn’t want Tony around, Tony won’t push - not now, not when it feels like Bruce has one eye on the door. 

“Good luck with your...” Tony still doesn’t know what Bruce does until morning. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Tony’s heart leaps into his throat as he mindlessly speaks those final words. The possibility of Bruce leaving in the middle of the night has never felt more real.

When Bruce’s panic attack sent Hulk storming through SHIELD HQ and the uppermost floors of the Tower, when Steve reminded Tony he didn’t call the shots, when Bruce woke to find the Avengers had turned on one of their own… Bruce sticking around became an uncertainty, but Tony felt justified in holding onto hope. Tonight, after the nightmare, Bruce’s continued presence feels like a fool’s dream.

The sudden spike in Tony’s anxiety stirs his urge for a trip to the liquor cabinet and his workbench until a heavy hand comes to rest upon his upper arm. 

“You too.” Bruce says, and it sounds like a promise. A promise they’ll see each other in the morning. A promise Bruce will stay.

Tony meets Bruce’s gaze and stops himself from asking aloud if Bruce means it. Bruce must read something in his expression because when Bruce clarifies, Tony’s heart leaps.

“I think I’ll take honey in my tea at breakfast.”

**⁂**

When Tony climbs into bed his arm is still warm and tingling from Bruce’s touch. 

His thoughts drift as he curls onto his side. 

He brings his knees to his chest and the memory of Bruce’s hair between his fingers is almost real. As Tony's eyelids grow heavy and spend longer closed than they do open, Tony remembers the texture of Bruce’s sweat-damp curls under his touch. 

With a breathy moan, the scene changes, and it’s as though Tony never left his place at Bruce’s feet. Tony shifts again, clutching his sheets to himself in a bundle. In his mind, he is kneeling, one arm linked around Bruce’s leg, Bruce’s hand in his hair, and Tony’s cheek pressed comfortably against Bruce’s thigh. 

Tony’s pillow is firm and cool as he nuzzles in and closes his eyes for the last time that night. The contentment Bruce had briefly worn during Tony’s time on his knees is the image Tony takes with him into his dreams.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce

**⁂**   
**BRUCE**

Tony is at the kitchen counter with coffee brewing, a kettle on the stove, and the morning paper in hand when Bruce comes up from the beach. The westward-facing deck is cool under his bare feet. The wind is warm across his shoulders.

His shirt drips onto his toes as he drapes it over the railing. Pulling the fabric flat to dry, Bruce spares another glance at Tony through the glass door.

A phone tucked against his ear, Tony mills about the kitchen. He unfolds the newspaper, spreading it the width of the island counter. It’s been a long time since Bruce felt an honest to goodness newspaper between his fingers. 

He doesn’t dwell on it too long because while on the phone, Tony wears a pinched expression. His sigh is dramatic but inaudible to Bruce's ears.

Bruce dusts wet sand from his hands and tries not to wonder why Tony’s mouth is set in a frown, but he wishes he could smooth out the wrinkles on Tony’s forehead with the press of his fingers, the touch of his lips. It won’t do to lose himself in the fantasy. Their relationship is a long way from such affections now. 

Bruce shakes away the memory of the nightmare, of waking to find Tony at his side. He pushes down the image of Tony kneeling at his feet. All that remains is the delicate care with which Tony treated him afterward, like Bruce couldn't be trusted to handle himself. 

Since Bruce had words with Coulson, Tony has been walking on eggshells around him and it hurts. No more pokes with sharp objects just to prove how much Tony trusts Bruce’s ability to stay calm. No more trading playful insults, teasing, or practical jokes. 

Tony hangs up the phone and tosses it aside, the movement jarring Bruce from his thoughts. He pokes at the halved grapefruit in front of him with a look of disgust and looks up. 

Bruce knows the second Tony catches sight of him. Tony stills, just short of the time it takes for him to blink, then he shifts his gaze down. Sifting through the newspaper, however, only seems to be a ruse of disinterest. Bruce doesn’t miss Tony’s shy glances toward the door.

Bruce gives a voice command and passcode to JARVIS for entry, and with a click and a swish, the glass door glides on its track. Cool air rushes out to meet Bruce on the deck. It smells sweet like hazelnut coffee and the citrus tang of Tony's breakfast. It smells like mornings in Malibu. 

Bruce grabs the towel from the table beside the door but doesn’t step in. Still on the deck, Bruce pretends not to notice Tony's eyes peeking through his lashes. He tells himself not to pay too much attention to the way Tony’s gaze roams the expanse of his bare skin. 

The surf was rough today; the aftermath of a storm up the coast. Bruce enjoyed the challenge - his body against the sea, riding the waves onto the shore. He’d suffered some minor scrapes along his chest and arms, but nothing that hadn’t healed during his climb up the staircase from the beach to where Tony’s second favorite home sits nestled atop the cliff. 

After the night Bruce had - considering the bad with the good, the nightmare and Tony’s return - the sunrise had been particularly beautiful. It held promise. It shone of hope. Bruce, however, knows he shouldn't entertain such portents; he should read them as warnings.

Bruce spends almost all of his time outside: every night to early morning. Apart from the midday hours spent in the lab with Tony, Bruce dedicates most of his time to practiced calm - meditation, martial arts, especially the two in conjunction with each other. Anything to keep himself distracted from Tony's obvious unease. It's not anger Bruce needs to keep at bay; the change in Tony's demeanor cuts deeper than that.

Bruce hates that Tony is so on edge. But Bruce chooses him. Every morning, after hours wandering the beach, he chooses to come back. And last night, when he stayed, when he needed someone at his side, Tony didn't shy away in caution, in fear. Bruce chose Tony and, for a little while, it felt like Tony chose him, too. 

Usually Bruce foregoes breakfast, slips through the kitchen, and heads straight for his room to shower and change. But today Tony's eyes are lingering - and so Bruce does the same. 

Knowing Tony's gaze is still on him, Bruce shakes his hair free of sand, what’s gotten caught in the curls as they dried in the sun. He does his best to keep it all on the deck. He brushes his feet against his bare legs, an attempt to clean them off as well. 

And so what if Tony’s gaze wanders the muscles of Bruce’s legs or the flex of his arms as he rucks a towel over his hair? This means nothing. Tony stares; it’s what he does. When concentrating on a problem, Tony stares - off into space, at the most miniscule defect of a thing - and his thoughts are rarely on the object in his sights. 

Tony breaks the silence with a light cough. Bruce takes note of the nervous tick and wishes it wasn’t there. It never used to be. Bruce is right to be mindful of the chasm between them. 

“You’re really trying too hard,” Tony says eventually, and Bruce looks up from dusting sand from his knees. His mind shifts again, muddled and oscillating, unable to form a clear picture of what’s real. He thinks that perhaps he is wrong about the space between them; perhaps the gap is closing after all. 

“This is a beach house, it’s expected for there to be sand in the woodgrain and carpets.” 

At that, Bruce gives up the task that feels futile anyway. He takes the first step indoors. It feels like a step toward clarity, and the pleased smile on Tony’s face helps Bruce feel like Tony isn’t taking a step backward in response. 

Bruce doesn’t want to be surprised, but yesterday still feels like a dream. Bruce thinks this may be the first morning Tony has spoken to him since their first day in Southern California - that day when everything was raw and wrong. 

Bruce takes in the effort of Tony’s smile, the determination to keep it in place, and acknowledges it with another step forward. With that step, the buzz of little motors and the squeal of wheels on tile race in from the hall.

Tony’s bots zoom around Bruce’s feet to sweep and vacuum the sand that’s been tracked into the kitchen. MEEP and MOP, Bruce thinks Tony calls them.

Bruce dances around the bots, careful not to crush them, dodging their attacks on his toes. “Sand’s expected, huh?”

It’s three words. Barely three words, but perhaps it’s the start of a conversation. Something lighter than last night, but still _them._ A shadow of what they used to share. 

How does he continue this? How does he draw about Tony’s banter? 

“Why do I have a strange sense of foreboding that these bots won’t stop their sucking at my toes. I have crevices I’d prefer left alone.”

Tony sputters as he lifts his hands, almost tearing the newspaper he’s been separating into sections. “W- Um…” 

Bruce would find it amusing, Tony’s loss for words, if only he didn’t need them. Why are words failing the one person words never fail? 

The kettle whistles on the stove, and, finally, Tony blinks. “I made tea.”

Bruce’s eyebrows draw together as he notices the pair of mugs on the island at Tony’s elbow. “Thanks.” Had he asked for tea or is Tony anticipating a need? Either way, the act brings Bruce to the island. 

Bruce’s heart does a little flip as Tony stands to turn off the burner. 

“You still want honey or something else? We have all that organic stuff. Pepper keeps the pantry stocked. Well, I guess she has an assistant for that sort of thing now that she’s not… I never… Hmm…” Tony speaks a mile a minute as he sorts through the cabinet beside the fridge. 

Bruce looks on in quiet fascination. 

Tony’s wired, anxious maybe, but not showing fear of setting Bruce off. These are the jitters Bruce recognizes from before. This is the giddiness Tony displays when he’s... happy. 

“Well, we have sugar, too. But none of that artificial shit. Sorry, Big Guy, no can do. I won’t let it in my home. Oh, wait… Nevermind. If you want the artificial shit I’ll be very disappointed in your life choices but apparently it is here… until I set it on fire.”

“Honey,” Bruce says and he’s caught off guard by the affection carried in his voice.

“Yes?” Tony turns around and in that brief moment Bruce realizes Tony assumed the word was a term of endearment. Then, Tony squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lips together. Embarrassed, his ears turn pink. 

Bruce’s hum of approval bounces with the hint of amusement.

“I’ll take some honey in my tea, _darling_.”

“Hardy har har.” Tony’s ears flush a deep red and Bruce can’t help feeling like this is good. Really good. Even if Tony never thinks of Bruce the way Bruce wants, maybe they can go back to being friends.

“So how was the benefit?” Bruce asks as Tony fills their cups.

“It was all right, I think. As far as those things go. Steve’s presentation was great. Had them eating out of the palm of his hand.”

Bruce’s eyes shutter. He should have known Tony’s first words would be about Cap. Captain Rogers. Steve. Bruce doesn’t even know what to call him anymore. He’s been trying to block him out of his mind since he left New York.

“Managed to stick his foot in it at the end though,” Tony says quickly. He must be compensating for the change in Bruce’s expression. “It’s... um… I’m sorry.”

Bruce wants to tell him that it’s all right, that it doesn’t matter, that he’s not bothered by the mention of the man - but he’d be lying. Even after everything that happened, Tony finds reasons to compliment his… his friend. That’s how Tony refers to him anyway. Despite the way Tony hangs off Steve’s every word. Despite the times Bruce has spotted Steve entering and leaving Tony’s penthouse in the middle of the night. 

Bruce has been silent for too long. For someone who craves conversation, he’s been doing a terrible job at keeping up. He takes a sip of tea while he considers a change of subject and his eyebrows lift in delight. “これはおいしい. Chamomile, right? It’s _very_ good.”

At the praise, Tony’s blush returns. His eyes flit downward to the counter and then up to Bruce. His gratitude is a whisper. “ありがとう.”

There’s a moment when Tony’s head is bowed between them and Bruce remembers last night, what Tony’s hair felt like between his fingers. A little stiff and sticky from the product he’d used to style it for the benefit. But this morning it looks soft. It would run through his fingers like feathers. 

“Dear Evan Hansen に関するニュースを見ましたか?” Tony asks.

Bruce glances down at the newspaper, unsure if _Dear Evan Hansen_ is a movie or a beloved social figure. Tony points out the article about the new musical and Bruce admits he hadn’t heard of it. 

Tony runs him through a brief synopsis of the production and highlights the positive response it’s gotten. And soon they’re discussing the Arts & Leisure section like it’s a routine they’ve kept up for years. 

They fall into an easy discussion and though it feels rather mindless, Bruce supposes it’s what he had hoped for - something light. And each change of subject brings Tony inches closer as he leans over the counter, until their heads are almost touching as they hover over the paper between them.

When Tony suggests they try the crossword next, it’s with an enthusiasm so shy that Bruce can’t refuse the request - no part of him wants to.

And though Bruce would much prefer holding Tony in his hands each morning, sharing the paper over breakfast feels like a compromise he can live with. 

**⁂**

Tony seems to be sleeping again. Even though Bruce finds him awake earlier than he had ever been in New York, the bags under Tony’s eyes are fading. In the mornings Tony peeks through the glass door to wave at Bruce meditating on the porch before disappearing again to have his coffee and daily conference calls to the city. During breakfast Tony tells Bruce what Pepper is up to, as if she’s the only one with whom he’s been in contact. Bruce isn’t so naive.

Today, Tony greets Bruce the same as he does every morning, fixing himself a second or third cup of coffee across from Bruce’s cup of tea - the latter of which has already been prepared to Bruce’s liking. The daily news lays spread between them - a paper copy, playing more into Bruce’s preference than Tony’s own. 

Something about staring at holograms all day still does a number on Bruce’s eyes. Tony knows the holograms have been giving him headaches. They never used to. But since the trip to Malibu there’s been an irritation that starts behind his eyes and radiates like a halo around his skull when he works too long. 

‘Headache’ feels like the easiest way to describe it to Tony. ‘Hulk’ is a reason he keeps to himself.

Bruce doesn’t miss the way Tony’s face falls when he makes his excuses and leaves the lab. There’s more than enough space for them to share the living room or library in the evenings, if only Tony could put his work to rest. 

What Bruce wouldn’t trade to have time with Tony in the lounge again. Or to hang around the ‘shop and watch Tony elbow deep in the mechanics of a machine. But Tony doesn’t join Bruce by the couches anymore and Tony’s morning projects coincide with Bruce’s meditations. 

Bruce has to stop himself from dwelling too long in the daydream of Tony at work because the engineer is staring at him far too curiously for the good of either of them. If he continues down this train of thought, he’ll start ruminating on the moments of _almost_. Almost touches, almost expressions of interest, eyes locking for almost long enough to reveal something their words haven’t. Tony can’t know how often the _almosts_ run through Bruce’s mind. 

Bruce squeezes the muscles of his neck and shoulders as he waits for his second cup of tea to steep. The massage is a measure of comfort left over from the days when his muscles actually ached after exertion. Since the gamma exposure, Bruce’s healing factor rarely leaves him in pain long enough to complain. 

A few naps on the beach don’t bother him like they should. Even if they did, Bruce thinks the discomfort would still be worth the tranquility of the pink and orange sunrises over the cliffs. It makes for an easy start to days that never fail to end with being overwhelmed and too many _almosts_. 

Bruce wakes early and keeps his sunrise meditation short in order to meet Tony for breakfast. To share a bit of silence and appreciate the tea that’s somehow prepared just the way Bruce would have done it himself. To race Tony through the crossword so they can peruse the rest of the paper as they eat. 

Bruce knows Tony thinks newsprint is a waste -- JARVIS gives a real rundown of relevant truths beyond what is ever printed on the page. But Bruce thinks - just maybe - Tony finds joy in the companionship between them while they read. He thinks maybe Tony is watching him more than he’s reading. Maybe Tony doesn’t read the paper at all anymore, but stays at the kitchen island instead for the company and conversation. 

The maybes fill Bruce with a strange spark of hope that is becoming more and more difficult to snuff out. 

Bruce counts himself lucky that Tony heads to the workshop after breakfast. He hears the clanging of hammers and zip of electric tools and is comforted by the fact that he’ll have some time to get his head on straight. There’s plenty of time for their independent projects before they come together in the afternoon. Bruce can sort his mind through Tai Chi, get in some research, and journal his findings from the night before. Tony can do whatever it is Tony’s been doing.

The meditations in Malibu have been… interesting. There’s not much by way of concrete facts or ‘words’ per se, but there’s something. Some fuzzy feeling at the back of Bruce’s mind, at the core of his being, that has been drawing Bruce’s attention for weeks. In Malibu, Hulk seems to be growing bolder. 

Lunch breaks with Tony are strained by Bruce struggling to hold back his theories on Hulk - not wanting to feed his own enthusiasm for what may be meaningless, pointless, nothing. Instead, he listens intently to Tony’s excited chatter about his improvements on the Iron Man suits. 

“It’s gonna be great. Your notes on underwater propulsion were, of course, genius. And that’s inspired a whole host of improvements. I’m pressurizing the shell for deep water dives and maybe… maybe even-”

Tony’s eyes lift to the ceiling and Bruce thinks he’ll mention his early sacrifice, flying into the atmosphere with a nuke - and falling. 

Something inside Bruce rolls; it makes him dizzy. He blinks - an attempt to anchor himself in the moment. 

He thinks he remembers Tony’s fall. He thinks he can see it. Not just the angles the News cameras had caught on film. He remembers the blur of red rushing toward the ground; he remembers the buildings cracking beneath his feet; he remembers the weight of Iron Man cradled in the bend of his arm.

Bruce sucks in a breath and the memory is gone.

“Are you OK?” Tony is wide-eyed with concern.

“I don’t like thinking about that day.” Something inside Bruce twists. He can’t tell if Hulk is expressing agreement or attempting a debate.

Tony nods as he admits, “I don’t think any of us do. Coulson and Clint pretend like it didn’t even happen.” 

At the mention of the others, Bruce’s chest rumbles with a sound that can be categorized as nothing short of a growl. He watches Tony for a reaction, but it seems like it was all in Bruce’s head.

By the time they move into the lab, Bruce is already toeing the line of exhaustion - just trying to keep his emotions in check. It’s not anger; Bruce reminds himself. This hole in his stomach, the ache in his chest, isn’t anger. No, he’s used to anger. That’s easy to temper. It’s the ache of betrayal that keeps slipping through his control. 

He spends the day trying not to judge Tony for his slip, trying not to question its innocence. Bruce doesn’t like the idea of being tested. If anyone’s trust should be put to the test, it is that of his teammates. His _captain._

He’s the one who gave the order to take down Hulk by drugging him, then released Clint’s arrows to SHIELD for testing and synthesis of Bruce’s serum. He’s the one who offered Bruce up to SHIELD like a meal. 

The fuzzy feeling within Bruce grows stronger; the lid he’s kept tight over his emotions feels like it has cracked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> これはおいしい. (This is delicious.)  
> ありがとう. (Thank you.)  
> Dear Evan Hansen に関するニュースを見ましたか? (Did you see the news about Dear Evan Hansen?)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce  
> Tony

****⁂**  
BRUCE**

Two months have passed since the Fourth of July but at the rate time is flowing - at a crawl then a sprint at dizzying intervals - it is impossible to keep track of the date. 

Tony’s workstation looks like a mirage, a hologram shimmering at the tips of his fingers. Date and time, however, aren’t data Tony needs until JARVIS points out he’s running late for an appointment - usually one he never wanted to attend in the first place - so what Tony refers to as ‘silly details’ are left off his display. 

Tony sniffs and groans in a stretch. He can usually talk paint off a wall, but this morning he’s been quiet. 

Conversation was sparse over breakfast, yet companionable. But Tony’s decision to join Bruce in the lab instead of spending the morning in his workshop had piqued Bruce’s curiosity. He’d expected Tony to explain himself, but thus far he’s been wordlessly working at his desk.

“Tony?”

“Sorry?” 

Inwardly, Bruce cringes. Tony’s apologies are too frequent. 

Over his shoulder, Tony spares the briefest glance at Bruce. “Can I, um… is there something… did you say something?” He seems distracted, drumming his hands against his thighs as he crouches over his latest project. Bruce leaves him to it.

“Just checking in,” Bruce says as he turns toward the window. He looks out over the ocean and thinks about his night swim. He remembers bobbing under the stars and wishing he could bring Tony out there. But it’s not safe. Bruce will risk his own safety, but not Tony’s. Never Tony’s. 

“Gonna top off my cup,” Tony says from behind him, still buzzing with energy. Too much energy to warrant another 20oz of coffee. “Can I get you anything from the kitchen?”

Bruce blinks bearily as he turns from the window toward the center of the room. “No,” he says, but he sounds unsure. Tony likes to be useful; he should put him to good use. “You know what? Put on a kettle for tea.”

Tony hums into his cup as he turns to the stairs. He’s in and out of the kitchen in a flash - carrying his steaming travel mug down the steps. 

Bruce looks up from his watch, crosses his arms over his chest, and chews at his frowning lips when Tony returns. 

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“You’ve designed all of these gadgets to anticipate your needs.”

“Yeah.” Tony looks the basement over with pride. “I’m awesome.”

“Mhm." Bruce’s mouth takes on a hard line. His gaze is piercing. "And yet you went all the way upstairs for your coffee, put the kettle on, and didn’t think that maybe you should bring me my cup as well?”

“You didn’t say you wanted a cup." Tony reels in a smirk; he knows exactly what he's doing. Not quite a prank, but annoying enough to be an echo of what was once playful teasing between them. 

There's an announcement from JARVIS, “Sir, the kettle in the kitchen is whistling for attention.”

Tony's enthusiastic, “Looks like I can get you that cuppa tea now,” is spoken like a revelation.

With a huff, Bruce starts down the steps toward the lab’s sitting area. The lights brighten gradually, sensing his entry. Tony is usually all about efficiency - running up and down the staircase certainly goes against the grain. But Tony has always had difficulty ‘shutting off’. Perhaps he thinks of this extra effort as a way to work through whatever has set his mood off kilter.

“Milk and honey.” Bruce calls after him. He decides to tack on a ‘darling’ for good measure, to show that he’s willing to play along. But Tony is out of sight and out of earshot by the time he says the word.

Tony’s footsteps announce his return as Bruce enjoys his view from the window. 

Absently, Tony muses, “There’s no change of seasons when it’s ocean as far as the eye can see.” 

Even as Tony speaks from across the room, Bruce hears hesitancy in his voice. He can imagine the lines of his face drawing together. 

“So you were paying attention,” Bruce says, remembering a conversation they’d had weeks ago. Back then it seemed like Tony was so far in his own world of guilt and blame and fear that Bruce thought nothing he said was getting through to him. Not that Bruce had said much. 

Bruce had been struck with such a need to prove he was in control that he advertised each minute of his daily routine. But Tony kept his distance, always working. Bruce knows now that Tony had only been trying to give Bruce his space, but-

“I’m always paying attention to you.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shoot up at that. He doesn’t consider himself on par with Tony’s many projects. The breakthroughs in sustainability and biomechanics are far more interesting than Bruce’s rambles about the weather. But if Tony is picking up on the brief observation that there’ll be a lack of Autumn in Malibu - picking up on little things like that while juggling the myriad responsibilities placed upon him by his dual personas - Tony Stark and Iron Man - maybe Bruce has been reading him wrong. 

_How much of me do you see? How much do you already know?_

Tony is brilliant. Though he doesn’t advertise them, he has a handful of PhDs of his own, and none of them had been handed to him. His mind is synthesis and retrosynthesis, forward and backward thinking, analyzing always. And he’s just admitted to paying attention. If he doesn't know how Bruce feels about him yet, then he's lying to himself.

**⁂** **  
****TONY**

Tony stares at the back of Bruce’s head for too long, saying nothing. It's impossible to read Bruce's thoughts. Tony imagines that even for someone with psionic powers Bruce's mind would be impenetrable. 

Bruce fashioned his mind into a cage of sorts, a steel trap for the stuff that haunts his dreams. Hulk's dreams. Hulk's cage. 

_Hulk is in there_ , Tony realizes. His heart grows heavy and sinks. Hulk is in the cage of Bruce's mind, trapped with the nightmares. 

For years, instead of trying to get him out, help him, Bruce has been trying to lock him up for good. But the night of the benefit… that night, Bruce let Hulk hide. That night, Bruce took it upon himself to suffer Hulk's nightmare.

Tony takes a sip of his coffee just to do something, to pretend he isn't trying to bore a window into Bruce's head with his thoughts. When he turns back to his work, he has no idea where he is anymore. 

  
The numbers look foreign and the text might as well be Cuneiform. He squints at the markings he’s been scribbling all morning and struggles to make sense of anything. His thoughts return to his confession to Bruce: _I’m always paying attention to you_.

Tony wants to hear him say, _You, too._ It would be fitting, he thinks, considering how often he’s heard those two words from Bruce’s lips. It seems there are some things Bruce is simply incapable of saying aloud. But if Bruce could just say it here and now, it would make up for all of the 'goodnights' and 'goodbyes' he couldn't.

Work calls for his attention again. Tony squints at the holographic display stumped, stunned, but determined to make some kind of headway by day's end.

The tension held at the base of his skull is just the first sign of what could be a mind-splitting headache. But if he has to be in the company of anyone who knows anything about a split mind, then Tony thinks he's really won the jackpot sharing a house with—

There’s a solid, unannounced presence at Tony’s back that should make him jump in its suddenness, but it doesn’t. Tony’s become so used to having Bruce around. The proximity is a comfort, a balm to the fear that the distance between them would last.

Despite the environmental controls in the lab -- the forced air that keeps the equipment from overheating and Tony’s hands so cold they ache if they’re immobile too long -- Bruce radiates a specific kind of warmth.

Tony wants to lean into him, just an inch. Despite the desire, he holds his ground. Despite his restraint, Bruce’s hand crosses the inches between them and comes to rest upon the small of Tony’s back. That is new, foreign. Tony thinks better than to relax into the touch. 

“You’re not getting any work done,” Bruce says. There's heat carried on the words, something warmer than the breath wafting over Tony's neck.

Bruce isn't lying about the lack of productivity. Tony stands straighter, to assure Bruce he isn’t falling asleep on his feet or otherwise weak-kneed, and turns to face him. Tony catches Bruce's gaze and, oh, those eyes are so dark, serious, and _focused._ Focused on him. Maybe Tony does go a little weak at that.

“I think it’s time for a break.” Bruce says. If anything, his voice has gathered more heat, has grown thick.

“Uh huh.” Tony’s agreement comes slowly as he reaches blindly for the commands to back up, save, and shut down his work. He’s transfixed on Bruce’s eyes. He won’t admit it’s Bruce’s eyes that have him missing the changing leaves of Fall in New York the most of all. 

More than the brisk air, scarves, and hats, it’s the browning of the leaves that will have Tony missing the East Coast if they don’t return before November. And, of course, nearly all of those leaves begin green. 

Tony could spend hours waxing poetic about the brown of Bruce’s eyes. Hulk doesn’t let him get this close, not for long. His green eyes are vibrant, but Bruce’s eyes are dark today, a rich brown like the leaves Tony would kick around walking to class at MIT. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Tony asks, breaking the silence. A spark ignites in Bruce’s calculating gaze and Tony’s heart leaps with hope that he’s doing the right thing. “I got us a little something.” 

There’s a moment where his feet aren’t sure if they should move. Then, Bruce gives a short nod of consent - no, this feels more like approval, permission - and Tony is doing his best not to stumble over himself as he heads to the stairs.

Bruce is at his back. Close. 

Tony doesn’t stop short just to feel Bruce bump into him. Not anymore; not since _before._ He doesn’t think it would work anyway. Bruce is hyper aware of the space he takes up. Tony thinks he may have been part of the problem, reinforcing that awareness by drawing him nearer than perhaps Bruce found comfortable in New York, leaning into him when it wasn’t by Bruce’s choice or invitation. But Bruce had never stepped away.

There's a touch he’s given in Malibu, however - his hand on the small of Tony’s back - that Tony has come to understand means he's too close. 

After everything that happened, Bruce’s sudden choice for this closeness - bolder than any time Bruce has polished his glasses with Tony’s shirt - has Tony’s mind spinning. 

Tony has always been told he is needy, clingy, too tactile. Bruce, however, has never said so. And the _touch_ today had come when Bruce stepped into Tony’s space, not the other way around. He wishes Bruce would explain what had happened, what is happening, between them.

The words aren’t spoken aloud. And, god, why are so many words never spoken aloud? 

Tony worries about how much Bruce holds in. He talks - sure. Bruce has always talked about gravely important subjects and minutiae that truly make the difference between life and death but… Still, there are things between them that would be easier to understand if Bruce would tell Tony where they stand, which is why Tony opens a cabinet he's avoided since they arrived. He pulls the jar of marijuana from the shelf with trepidation and hope. 

If Bruce can just relax, unwind, then maybe he can say what he needs to say. Then, maybe, he'll say what Tony needs to hear.

Tony thinks of Bruce standing at the window fixated on the ocean. “Let’s go to the beach.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Roof.”

Tony’s expression twists so quickly he doesn't have a chance to suppress the wince. The prospect of being at the tippy top of a cliff without his Iron Man suit is making him dizzy. The prospect of him wearing said suit and having it smell like this stuff, however, is downright nauseating. He doubts the sticky, skunky stink of this strain will smell any better once it’s lit. Still, he can call a pair of gauntlets. At least with the repulsors he’ll have the gift of flight. He should get his bracelets.

Tony feels Bruce’s hand on his back again and stands straighter. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. “You prefer the beach. We can-”

“No. No.” Tony knows Bruce always has a reason. Bruce always keeps him safe. “Roof it is.”

The pitch isn’t even bad in the spot Bruce points out, but the height, the expanse of the scene, takes Tony’s breath away in ways standing with his toes in the sand and surf just can’t compare. If anything, it reminds him of Stark Tower.

_Avengers_ Tower, he reminds himself carefully. His New York home has become overrun by SHIELD and their Avengers Agenda (at least the top ten floors, so far). 

Despite his losses, there is Malibu. In Tony’s Southern California mansion, it is just him and Bruce. It’s nice. But it doesn’t really feel like home. It’s just an extended vacation of sorts. 

The marijuana makes it a tricky, one-handed climb, but Bruce liberates the pair of joints from Tony's death grip before helping him shuffle along the shingles. Maybe Tony exaggerates just how difficult it is to keep his balance in order to keep Bruce nearby. 

Nonetheless, he keeps careful watch on their footing between the solar panels. There's something amusing about the Velcro action of Bruce's socks on the shingles. “Is that why you’re never wearing shoes?”

With a steady hold on Tony’s wrist, Bruce takes a final step toward the edge of the roof. “You never mentioned that it bothered you.”

“It doesn’t,” Tony says easily, getting distracted by the view. 

Tony whistles as he peers over the edge and looks down the cliff. It’s only the pressure of Bruce’s fingers wrapped around his wrist that gives him the confidence to pull off such a stunt without fear. It’s worth the risk. Waves crash into the rocks below the house. The beach to the right is alive with gulls poking at the sand and weeds. The high dune grass bows in the wind. It takes Tony’s breath away. 

Tony doesn’t realize he’s leaning dangerously far until Bruce starts to wrangle him back in. Surprised by the sudden pull on his arm, Tony pivots and his stomach drops. There’s a moment of real panic when the toes of his left foot slip off the roof; Tony thinks he’ll actually fall and take Bruce with him to the water below.

Then Bruce yanks on his arm, hard enough to send them both crashing onto the roof. Bruce lands on his ass near the roof’s peak while Tony comes down hard on his knees, practically on top of him. Tony buries his face into the hard muscle of Bruce’s thigh where he lands, his thoughts loopy from the rush of adrenaline still coursing through his veins. 

He turns when he feels the rumble of Bruce chuckling to himself. 

Tony lays his head on Bruce's thigh and looks up at him with a lopsided grin. "Not how I thought this would happen."

Bruce's pulsometer beeped once when Tony was falling, but now his heart rate is in the high range of normal. "You often think about falling off the roof?"

The question hits Tony kind of close to home. Because, yes, he does think of falling - falling out of the sky, falling in love. And he worries who will catch him if Bruce and Hulk don't. But Tony answers with a light, "One of mankind's greatest fears."

Bruce’s hand finds its way to Tony’s neck; his fingers scratch just below Tony’s ear as he asks more seriously, "And of your head in my lap, how often have you thought about that?"

Tony is about to answer ‘all the time’ when Bruce brings a lit joint to his mouth and takes a long drag. Sometime during Tony’s admiration of the ocean view, Bruce has managed to smoke more than half of it. Tony pushes himself to his knees and crawls to sit beside him instead of saying anything.

Though Bruce doesn’t make a big deal out of Tony’s change of position, he assists Tony with a grip tighter than before and Tony’s heart feels like a hammer in his chest. Tony rubs at his sternum, just below the reactor, and reminds himself to breathe. What he really wants to do is turn toward Bruce and thank him for holding on, for bringing him back. He really wants to ask if any of this attraction between them is real, but when Bruce asks, “Are you OK?” Tony forces a laugh. 

“There there, Brucie, I know how to swim.” 

Bruce doesn’t look amused and he doesn’t let go of Tony until Tony tells him, “I’m fine, I swear.” Tony's wrist doesn't stop tingling until long after Bruce’s joint is at his lips again.

Bruce takes a drag and offers it over, but Tony already has his own - thinner, what he knows his unirradiated body can handle - pursed between his lips. With steady hands, Bruce brings up a lighter and waits patiently for Tony and the joint to meet the flame the rest of the way. 

Tony breathes in, slowly to get started, and greets Bruce with a rough, “Thanks,” on his exhale.

Bruce gives a short huff through his nose, a puff of smoke escaping into the breeze. 

“We could do this more often, if you like. The pot. The rooftop.” The warm breeze has stopped as if to lend weight to the invitation, a weight that Tony really doesn’t need right now. He shouldn’t feel shy about this. Bruce didn’t cast judgment or even hesitate when Tony asked him to roll the joints before they came up.

But Bruce says, “Of course,” like it’s a no-brainer, and he takes another deep drag before sending a long line of smoke toward the cloudless sky.

Feeling light and loose, Tony pinches the end of his joint. It may be the weed going to his head or the relief of Bruce’s response. Either way, Tony sets his joint aside. He doesn’t need it anymore. 

He rests back on his hands and only then notices Bruce’s arm is behind him. 

Tony tenses, arching away, only because the touch startles him. But the weed has slowed Bruce’s reactions, emboldened him too, perhaps; he doesn’t move. Tony settles again. The position is comfortable; he wants to be comfortable. 

Bruce glances his way, such a brief flick of his eyes, then looks out to the water again. 

There’s a tickle at the small of Tony’s back, the trail of a finger along his spine, and a small sound escapes his throat. The finger starts its journey down the slope of Tony’s lower back again, stopping at the waistband of his pants and traveling up again.

With his tee shirt rucked up just an inch, Tony feels the chill of a new breeze against his skin. 

The scrape of Tony’s hand along the roof announces its careful slide before it’s resting beside Bruce’s thigh. With a twitch, Tony gives a light scratch at the seam of Bruce’s slacks. 

Bruce takes another drag of his joint. Tony keeps his eyes on the ocean. 

“I like it up here,” Tony says to the water. It’s half a lie. 

“You don’t.” Bruce’s voice is rough from the burn of the smoke. “But I appreciate the company.”

“Holiday spirit and all. Makes me generous,” he jests. It feels silly to refer to Labor Day as a real holiday, like it’s been anything more than a day for Americans to shop for decades. 

Tony wishes he could turn it off, this defense. How can he expect Bruce to open up when he won’t say what he means? 

Now that he’s thinking of holidays, however, Tony’s voice drops. “I spent a lot of holidays alone, or feeling like I was. Ever since I was a kid, they never really felt like-” 

Bruce winces and shuts his eyes. He shakes his head as if to rid himself of a memory, an image or voice. Tony knows the gesture well, from his personal experience and from seeing Bruce in this position before.

“I didn’t mean to-” _The Fourth of July._ Tony realizes he must have reminded him of The Fourth.

Bruce is holding out his joint between them; it’s nothing more than a nub, a roach better suited for tweezers than fingertips. His hand shakes. The pulsometer on his watch beeps its first warning.  
  
“Dammit.” Tony watches the numbers climb. 

Bruce has been doing so well. They both have. Bruce does all he can preventing REM sleep to avoid the nightmares that come with it. Tony manages his nightmares on his own - Louis XIII and Macallan single malt help a few nights a week. Some minor flashbacks break through, but overall…

Tony wants to tell Bruce that his watch is wrong. That everything is fine. That whatever holidays hold over him doesn't have to control him anymore. They’ll get to the bottom of what happened on The Fourth. They’ll figure it out together.

Bruce gasps through his breathing exercises with his free hand on his abdomen. Tony crouches beside him and tries to keep up. The yoga breaths are exhausting for Tony, but Bruce refuses to try anything else until his heart rate dips below 100.  
  


Even through Bruce’s struggle, Tony is overwhelmed with awe at his friend’s strength as he tries and succeeds at keeping himself in control. He didn’t doubt that Bruce would be OK, but Tony is inspired every time. He has so little control of his own demons.

Bruce’s hand is still trembling between them. Tony realizes it's a plea to relieve him of what is left of his joint. Grabbing the roach, Tony burns his fingers, but his mind isn’t on the fleeting pain. 

Between the harsh and quick yoga breaths Tony can never match, Bruce grinds out, “Thanks,” like not littering is what matters right now. 

As Bruce’s breaths deepen, his hovering hand falls to Tony’s leg where he squeezes so hard there'll be a bruise. “I'm sorry,” Bruce says again, sounding calm between releasing lungfuls of air in tight streams. 

Bruce's mindless massage on Tony's thigh digs deep into the muscle. “I'm sorry.”

Bruce shouldn't be the one apologizing, Tony thinks. His voice shouldn't be laden with guilt.

Tony knows giving drugs to anyone yields varying results. Even if the person isn’t a certified genius and chronic over-thinker harboring a larger than life rage monster. Nonetheless, Tony was hoping for a mellow high. To spend a few minutes with loosey goosey Brucie would have been a treat for both of them. It makes sense though, Tony thinks, for his plans to fall apart.

Pepper is right. _Steve_ is right. Tony sets Bruce off, overwhelms him. He’s been pushing him, smothering him even, with his need for affection. He’s misconstrued their relationship. Tony’s feelings toward him are misplaced. No matter how good it feels to have Bruce's hand on him, what they have is friendship - a delicate one, at that; it isn’t more.

What had happened today was a one-off. The touches given only because Bruce was high. Actions under inebriation aren’t indicative of anything.

When Bruce truly comes around, he'll pull away from Tony like he's been burned. 

“This was a bad idea," Bruce says, drawing his knees up toward his chest.

It sounds like a scolding, but not of Tony; Bruce’s anger is turned inward at himself. 

With Bruce’s head hung low, he looks both younger and older than his years. Tony covers the hand still on his thigh, holding it there when Bruce moves to pull away. Bruce’s resistance is weak and his eyes look up at Tony in question.

Tony holds his eye contact, searching, but neither of them seem to find what they're looking for. Without asking their questions aloud, Tony fears they’ll never find their answers. 

Drawing up the last wave of bravado from his high, Tony scoots toward Bruce. He knows it's a risk. He knows it's selfish. He knows he may be reading more into the touches, and the looks, and the moment. But he moves in close enough to press their thighs together and he pauses to give Bruce the opportunity to move away.

“Is this OK?” Though it feels like the earth is quaking, Tony’s voice is steady.

“It’s…” Bruce squeezes Tony’s aching thigh as a breeze passes through. “Yes.”

Tony drops his head to Bruce’s shoulder. “And this?”

There is little hesitation before Bruce’s head is resting upon Tony’s.

The minute of silence stretches long and passes too quickly.

The weight of Bruce’s head is replaced by that of his hand. It glides from the crown of Tony’s head to the nape of his neck before Bruce says, “I’m hungry.”

Tony wonders if Bruce can feel the smirk against his tricep. “You’re always hungry.”

Bruce gives a throaty hum of agreement and his hand passes over Tony's hair again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> (We're going to hang out in Tony's POV for a few chapters.)

**⁂** **  
****TONY**

They've eaten their way through deep bowls of carrot ginger soup when Bruce turns from reserved to downright taciturn. Tony struggles to make small talk with him anyway. 

“Well, when I finish up with this suit, I’m thinking of dedicating more attention to the water filtration system we started before coming here.” Tony thinks if he mentions the plans they’d brainstormed while they unwound in his penthouse living room, that maybe they could go back to that. Maybe Bruce would let him share his space again. 

“All this… coastal living and submarine suit design…” Tony continues, “I can’t shake the feeling that I should get back to that.” He’s all but slurring into his glass of wine. 

Tony knows he shouldn’t have drank so much so fast, but since coming down from the roof Bruce has been steadily retreating into himself. Bruce is distant, and he looks as angry as he is hungry. 

It hurts to watch Bruce seethe in silence. Even Malibu’s beautiful sunset shining through the wall of windows in the dining room doesn’t mollify that ache.

Bruce glances up from his tea with an unreadable expression. Tony isn’t sure if he’s even listening.

Shoveling another biscuit into his mouth, Tony tells himself he doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t care that he’s on his fourth glass of wine or that his stomach aches with the amount of food and drink he’s managed to cram into it. 

He’s halfway into a rant on the immoral, exploitative, narcissistic up-and-comer in HYDRA - Marvin Flumm - before Tony recognizes Bruce’s _other_ ‘Zoned Out Face’ creeping in. With so much he has to get off his chest, talking to Bruce’s impersonation of a brick wall is better than keeping it bottled up. But this look Bruce wears is different.

Tony takes note but doesn't let it interrupt his flow.

A second bottle of wine is open and one third of the plate of biscuits is empty when Tony starts to clear their dishes. Finally his frustration reaches its breaking point. Tony drops a punchline without context. “And _that’s_ why Cap won’t touch a dirty dog cart with a 40-foot pole.”

Bruce blinks, finally acknowledging the presence of another person, and Tony wonders if he knows the story or merely finds the mention of Steve jarring enough to draw him out of himself.

Tony lets the stack of dishes he’s carrying clatter into the sink. Throwing up his hands, he asks, “Where do you go?”

“What?” Bruce continues to blink as he comes out of his daze, his owlish look threatening to melt Tony’s heart, just for a second. 

Then Tony’s back to telling himself it'd be safer to rid himself of his ideas of what relationship he and Bruce could have. He should take them to the Tower terrace - or the Malibu rooftop where they've grown a life of their own - and toss them over the edge. 

Minutely, Tony acknowledges that he’s more annoyed at himself than at Bruce's quiet retreat. His own plan backfired; getting high apparently comes with a crash. The end result: weed sends Bruce farther inward than it does draw him out. 

Tony can work with this, has been working with this. But after things had been looking up, to be looking down again feels like Hell. 

And _fuck_ if that didn’t just trap his heart in a vice.

“Sir?” JARVIS speaks over the intercom and Tony knows he’s going to mention the sharp change in his vitals. Tony feels it, too.

Tony whips out his phone to confirm, then shuts down the AI’s concern with a quick, “Take a load off, J. You're working too hard.” He temporarily silences JARVIS’s audio component. There's no need for Bruce to know Tony's heart feels like it is literally breaking.

All it takes is a few taps to his phone screen and JARVIS's data is saved to a file Tony can ignore until later. 

As usual, Bruce disregards the banter between Tony and his AI. "What do you mean, where do I go?" he clarifies.

Before Bruce can disappear, back into himself or upstairs to his private rooms, Tony prods. But he tries to make himself less intimidating in both tone and stance. 

His approach to the dinner table is in easy, measured steps. “You know what I mean. When you’re not all here. Are you…” Tony flutters his fingers in a halo around the base of his skull. “Was the Big Guy saying something?”

“Ah.” Bruce’s cookie crumbles between his fingers. “Um, he’s... No, he doesn’t really talk back often.”

Tony stops short. “Talk back… often? As in, you converse on occasion?”

Bruce lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “Sometimes it feels that way.”

“That’s…” Tony collapses into his chair and gives his head a scratch. “Have you ever spoken to anyone about this stuff?” Tony doesn’t take his eyes off the stiffness in Bruce’s posture. 

Bruce pushes away his plate as the tension in his shoulders rises up his neck to his jaw. 

“If you want to," Tony begins an offer, only to be cut off by Bruce's frustrated sigh.

“I’ve been to doctors, Tony. Seen psychiatrists, institutions… You and I both know this has gone far beyond that.” 

“I was gonna say: I’m here.” Tony swallows as Bruce lifts his eyes and holds him in his gaze. Talking to Bruce’s bowed head was easier, but Tony continues in earnest. “I’m a good listener.”

Bruce opens his mouth and what comes out is a low, wordless noise. He looks from Tony to his tea then back. “You are.”

The acknowledgement comes so unexpectedly that Tony isn’t sure he heard Bruce right. 

Tony’s shock must be well-hidden. Or maybe it’s so noticeable Bruce feels the need to let him off the hook. 

Bruce sips his tea and assumes a casual air; Tony bites his tongue to keep from mentioning the change in him like the flip of a switch. 

“There’s a conference coming up.” Bruce speaks into the cup. Tony has to strain to make out Bruce’s words. “I was thinking I would go.”

“Really?”

It’s been almost eight months since Bruce accepted Tony’s offer to live at the Tower after his recruitment to the Avengers. And they’ve spent the last two of those in Malibu. Bruce has never expressed interest in stepping outside of the Avengers sanctuaries to go off on his own since moving in. Until now.

Maybe Bruce hadn’t meant to admit so much about his relationship with Hulk. Or maybe what he said on the subject was enough for one day. 

Respecting Bruce’s reasons to change the subject, whatever they may be, Tony follows his lead. “Where?” 

At the lifted eyebrow Bruce is sporting Tony clears his throat and tries again. “I mean, yes, go. Of course.” Tony knows it isn’t his place to demand Bruce stay or to police his itinerary. “But where are you going? When?” 

It’s more than making conversation when Tony asks. Tony wishes he could see the hot shot in action. Bruce’s mind being challenged by other experts in his field must be a sight. 

“There’s one coming up in a few weeks,” Bruce’s answer lifts at the end with uncertainty, but Tony knows there’s no confusion over the date.

“OK…” 

“In Philadelphia.”

“So what kind of nerds are we talking about here?”

“Biochemists, mostly. There’s been new studies on radiation resistance.” Bruce’s gaze is steady, just shy of intimidating. It’s as though he’s daring Tony to question him. “I’d like to be there when they present their findings. When we get back to New York, I’d like to take on an assistant. Someone who can understand the accident; who can help me analyze the changes that resulted from the gamma exposure.”

_When we get back to New York…_ Tony wants to like the sound of that, but it seems like the announcement has materialized from thin air. “No need to explain. I’m sure we can set up some interviews and-”

“I have someone in mind, actually.”

“You do?” Tony supposes that shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise. Bruce spends most of his time indoors in the library, living room, and lab keeping tabs on scientific research, discoveries, and inventions. “Who?”

“Melinda Lucenstern. She’s a geneticist and the leading expert in microRNA neurobiology.” Bruce talks about her like she’s someone Tony should know, so he nods along. But his brain feels sloshy and despite Bruce’s muted enthusiasm, none of this sounds like good news.

“Of course,” Tony says to encourage more information out of Bruce. “So, Lucenstern, she can help you research your, um…”

“She studies personhood, down to the cellular level. I think she can help me isolate Hulk - and maybe from there, I can finally have some options.”

Tony’s insides freeze. The reactor makes him cold, but not like this. The implication in the way Bruce says ‘options’ sends a feeling like ice coursing through Tony’s veins. “Like getting rid of him.”

“Options,” Bruce insists.

“Mhmm.” Tony shouldn’t argue with him over this. It’s Bruce’s decision, after all. He shouldn’t risk pushing Bruce away - not while he’s in no position to argue. But warnings sound in Tony’s mind. And his blood alcohol content is high enough that he takes the dare. “Are you… do you think you’ll be seeing people you know there? Risk running into anyone who might be a little too interested in seeing you?”

“You think this is a bad idea.”

“I...” Tony sits up and faces Bruce head on. His hands twitch around the half-empty wine glass in front of him. His pocket feels heavy with the jar of weed leftover from their trip to the roof. “Who am I to judge bad ideas, right? I bet you’ll have a great time. Yuck it up with the wannabes. No one knows more about radiation resistance than you, eh, Big Guy?”

There’s that eyebrow again.

Tony takes a deep breath before tipping back his head and draining his cup. No matter how hard he wishes it were, it’s not something stronger. He fills the glass again and Tony thinks he must be an asshole for wanting to be even more drunk than he already is. What is he looking for, anyway? What does he think the alcohol will give him? 

Courage? To walk around the table to Bruce? To straddle his lap or to kneel at his feet? To kiss him on the mouth or to beg for Bruce’s hands in his hair? To ask him to be careful at the conference or to beg him to stay home?

Does Tony want to be numb? Numb to his desire? Numb to the confusion of Bruce's hot and cold? Numb to the heartache of feeling ignored? Numb to the risks Bruce takes? Numb to the reality that Bruce could disappear?

Tony should be encouraging this development in Bruce’s interests - at least in his interest to engage in his field. Wasn’t it Tony who had told him that he didn’t have to quit his day job?

“I had our offices and our labs upgraded. Better than new.” Tony says and he wishes his words didn’t drag. The new equipment is supposed to be a gift, but spoken with an alcohol-heavy tongue Tony thinks it sounds more like a bribe to forego the conference. Like a desperate cry for attention. _Look at me; I’m falling apart. How could you possibly go and leave me alone when we have all these shiny new toys to play with together?_

But maybe Bruce is right to initiate their return to New York. From what Tony can glean from SHIELD’s files, Tony believes R&D hasn’t, as of yet, successfully synthesized anything effective against Hulk (or anything like him). And there's no way SHIELD would be dumb enough to ask Bruce for his help a second time. 

But something about the way they document their failures leads Tony to suspect there's more going on in SHIELD R&D. 

Tony wishes he didn’t have to be suspicious of these people that have assured him they are acting in the best interest of him and his friends. But it wouldn’t be the first time Tony or Bruce have been manipulated by people they were supposed to be able to trust.

Tony lifts his glass in a silent toast - to those men he wishes he didn't remember, to those lessons he'll never forget. 

"So, Philly, huh?" Tony mumbles into his drink. "That sounds fun."

“If you have any interest in joining me at the conference-” Bruce gives his head a slight tilt as he wets his lips. He says, “you should come,” and Tony nearly chokes on the last of his wine.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony

**⁂** **  
****TONY**

“After all I told you, you still think I smother Bruce?” The conversation with Pepper isn't going in Tony's favor when he hears the whisper of socks against carpet coming in from the hall. Then again, in the month since he’d last seen her face to face, it’s been rare for any of their conversations about Bruce to go in Tony’s favor. But that doesn’t mean he has plans to stop confiding in his best friend.

Bruce pads into the kitchen and stands straighter when he sees Tony already at the counter. The array of bowls, groceries, and cooking utensils laid out probably startle Bruce as much as the sight of Bruce indoors at sunrise startles Tony. Tony doesn’t think he’s seen Bruce sleep in, miss his morning meditation on the deck, in all the time they’ve been in Malibu.

“Anyway,” Tony says into the receiver and catches the refrigerator door with his fingertips, “I gotta call you back.” Now that Bruce is up, it’s officially the start of a new day. And today, Tony has decided, will begin with eggs. 

Over the line, Tony is sure Bruce can hear Pepper say, “Be careful with him,” before he hangs up. 

Tony turns with a carton of eggs and an excuse for Pepper’s concern forming on his lips. Throughout the month since the Veteran’s benefit, since the nightmare, since they rediscovered the path that leads from friendship to more, Tony has gotten used to telling Bruce half-truths. He’s gotten used to biting back details and convincing himself that omissions aren’t as bad as lies. Afterall, he’s protecting his friend. His maybe-could-be-more-than friend.

From the looks of things, whatever Bruce has on his mind is more pressing than anything he could have heard Pepper say. The mop of curls flattened on one side appears to be bedhead, but the dark circles under Bruce’s eyes have Tony wondering if the look of sleep is just an illusion. 

Upon closer examination, Tony concludes just that. Rising past the collar of Bruce's tee-shirt is a tint of green.

“You doing all right there, Big Guy?”

Bruce mutters a morning greeting in response. It's half-hum, half-grunt and takes none of Tony's attention off of Bruce's throat. Stubbled and scarred, tanned and olive, the sight should stir up fear rather than curiosity. But Tony's always been reckless with his own health and safety.

“So, what's with the turtleneck?” 

Placing the carton on the counter beside the stove, Tony keeps busy both to stop himself from taking a closer look and as a show of good faith. Tony doesn’t fear Hulk, doesn’t fear Bruce’s change - not for himself in the least.

“Just woke up.” There's no mirror-check or attempt to hide what Tony can see. Bruce shuffles closer with all the typical enthusiasm a decaffeinated brain can muster. 

Tony figures it was a nightmare that woke him. He wonders to whom the nightmare belongs. He feels guilty for not being there to soothe Bruce as he came out of it.

“I'm fine,” Bruce insists. As if to prove his point, he forces a semblance of a smile and the color fades from his skin; Bruce’s hand glides over the small of Tony’s back as he passes between the kitchen island and the stove. 

Bruce is taking the long way toward the coffee machines. It’s deliberate. Tony wants to catch his hand, pull him close, but he refrains.

The cast iron pan scrapes heavily against the stovetop as Tony slides it into place over a burner. “I was gonna make breakfast. How many eggs can you eat?”

Bruce takes his time fixing his tea. Which is a feat, Tony will tell you. Anyone that can stretch something mundane - like the preparation of a cup, hot water, one bag, no milk or sweetener - is just cruisin’ for a bruisin’. Though Tony supposes ol’ Brucie-boy's most significant other won't stand idly by while the body they share eats a knuckle sandwich. Not that Tony would ever lift a hand in anger to Bruce. Or Hulk. Not ever.

“6 scrambled, 2 overeasy.” Bruce places his order like Tony hasn't been falling asleep on his feet, hypnotized by the slow pour of water from the kettle into Bruce's mug. Bruce frowns like he's the one who has been kept waiting for an answer. “If you arrange them on my plate in a smile, I’ll swap your belts for suspenders.”

Tony’s jaw drops in mock offense. “Why do you hate fun?”

Bruce takes a long drink from his mug. “I have a different understanding of what can be fun.”

“Is that why you need my belts?”

When Bruce turns away, Tony is left staring at the carton of eggs and trying to make heads or tails of Bruce's response and subsequent lack thereof. 

They have fun together, don't they? Science bros, hanging out in the lab. Maybe-more-than-friends talking over dinner, creating their own makeshift support group - if you count semi-platonic dinner-dates at sunset and running away to Malibu as, uh, positive coping strategies. (They beat the hell out of drowning in brown liquor every night or hiding out in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro.) They make good housemates. They respect each other's stuff and space and time. They do have fun. They _could_ have more.

As if to prove it, Tony makes Bruce the fluffiest half dozen eggs his kitchen has ever seen. Then, he grins to himself as he fries the last two eggs and arranges his best version of yin and yang on Bruce's plate. 

When he presents breakfast to Bruce, however, Tony's confidence wavers. The discerning genius steps away from his lab station to squint at the covered tray in Tony's hands like he _knows_. 

Maybe this is the wrong morning to be cheeky. Maybe Tony should wait for a day when Bruce attends to his morning routine. Maybe he should wait until after Bruce’s second cup of tea before he starts poking the biggest, baddest bear in the woods. 

Bruce rubs at the scruff under his chin, and Tony finds that he can barely lift his own eyes. His reflection warps on the domed metal cover of the warming plate.

“What’s this?” Bruce asks, before taking the handle to look for himself.

Tony clears his throat to remind his body to speak. “Your eggs.” There are sides of cubed melon and hashbrowns as well.

Bruce takes the fork off the tray and stabs at the scramble. When he takes the first bite, Tony doesn't give it too much thought; Tony expects Bruce will take the tray or tell him to set it down somewhere after a taste test. Instead, Bruce takes a second bite, and a third. Then, he's picking up the knife and cutting into the eggs done over easy and Tony realizes Bruce's intention to eat where he stands. 

Tony's eyes search their periphery. He and Bruce are alone, of course. No one has followed them to Malibu. No one can cross the bounds of the property without Tony being the second to know (after JARVIS). When Tony’s eyes return to face front, he takes a sharp breath. 

Bruce is watching him as he swallows a bite of melon. The corner of his mouth lifts indulgently, drawing Tony’s attention. 

Tony wonders what he’s done to earn the look; he’ll gladly do it again. Then Bruce licks fruit juice from his top lip and Tony has to bite his tongue in order to suppress the urge to mirror the action. 

Bruce gives a short, low chuckle, which sounds dangerously close to a moan, before his focus is back on the tray. 

Tony’s face is hot; his tongue hurts where it’s clamped between his teeth. He sways where he stands.

In the end, Tony lets himself relax. He holds the tray diligently and without complaint, wondering if this is some alternative punishment for bending Bruce’s ridiculous rule about sucking the fun out of everything. Bruce won’t even let Tony plate sausage and meatballs together anymore, after what Tony considers a very tasteful - if phallic - display. 

Bruce hums around another forkful of his breakfast and the blood heating Tony’s face rushes south.

If this is punishment, it’s torture for reasons Tony hadn’t anticipated.

Years on the run have made Bruce a quick eater and Tony is fit enough that acting as a table causes his muscles no real strain. Bruce returns his fork to its proper spot on the tray and replaces the lid over his empty plates. “Obrigado. Isso foi delicioso.”

Tony risks lifting his eyes and finds Bruce watching him again. Bruce moistens his lips and Tony replays the praise. Goosebumps rise on Tony’s skin and his breath hitches. Bruce's hand is coming up, slowly reaching toward Tony's face. And suddenly there is no air left in the room. 

Tony's knees threaten to buckle under Bruce’s attention; his breathing grows shallow. Tony swears to all that is holy and sacred, if JARVIS interrupts with a comment on his vitals Tony will rewrite the AI's programming. 

Bruce's hand comes to rest on the nape of Tony's neck. He slips his hand just under the collar of Tony's tee shirt, drags his nails over the skin; it sends a shiver up Tony's spine.

Barely a whisper, Tony moans then leans into Bruce's touch.

Apparently satisfied by Tony's response, satiated by their exchange, Bruce slides his hand across Tony's shoulders, down Tony's arm, and turns back to his lab table.

“I think we can get more done in New York,” Bruce says offhand, flipping through a notebook at his station. “The sooner we head back, the better.”

Tony is left standing with the tray and a hard-on while Bruce goes back to his work like nothing out of the usual transpired. Punishment indeed.

Tony misses New York, too - misses the weather, the people, the food. Tony misses the way he and Bruce were in the labs. They had an easy vibe there - a lot of collaboration. 

Tony misses the New York he and Bruce had _before._

Before Hulk smashed up the Tower. Before Hawkeye loosed Bruce’s new gamma dampener tranqs against Tony’s call. Before words like ‘necessary’ and ‘unavoidable’ were thrown around like Hulk’s agency didn’t matter. Before SHIELD decided Bruce’s was worth more as a guinea pig than a scientist. 

Yes, Tony misses New York. The only benefits to Malibu, up until recently, have been the ocean view and the distance from S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. But now there's this _energy_ buzzing between him and Bruce. Tony doesn't want to mess it up, doesn't want to lose it.

"Malibu is nice but..." Bruce's mumble trails off around the pen cap caught between his teeth. 

He shrugs and scribbles into his notebook and glances up. His eyes land on Tony, but he seems to need a double take before he recognizes Tony is still standing precisely where he was abandoned. "You can put that down." Bruce's pen returns to his paper in the same instant.

Tony places the tray on the floor and tries his own hand at the cocked eyebrow that Bruce uses so often.

At the sound of the tray tapping the tile, Bruce clears his throat. He’s still writing when he says evenly, “Take the tray and everything on it to the kitchen sink. Scrape the dishes into the disposal. Wash the dishes with soap and water. Dry them with a clean dish towel. Replace the dishes where they belong in the cabinets. Prepare me a fresh cup of tea and bring it to me here in the lab.”

Tony remains where he is with a smile. “K.” Via the Stark Pad in his pocket, he has access to all of his work. He can stand in this spot for hours and never be bored. 

Bruce looks up with a squint, then gives a soft roll of his eyes. “Now,” he amends. “Thoroughly and quickly.”

  
  


When Tony returns, Bruce accepts his mug with a hint of amusement showing in the lines of his face. 

“Aren’t you going to inspect my work?”

Bruce returns his focus to the book in his hand. "After my tea - which is perfect, thank you. If this is anything to go by, I trust the kitchen is spotless.”

Behind Bruce’s back, Tony chews his lip. He slips out of the lab for a few minutes to make sure the kitchen will live up to Bruce’s expectations.

****⁂** **

Tony is sitting on the sofa in the living area, reading up on the latest in Dissociative Identity Disorder and enjoying a scotch when he feels the heat of Bruce’s palms hovering over his shoulders. 

With a glance and a smile, Tony welcomes him. He places his tablet aside to devote his entire attention to his maybe- _probably_ -more-than-friend. 

Bruce’s hands settle upon Tony’s shoulders; the touch does more to loosen his muscles than the measure of liquor he’s been sipping for the past hour.

“We should go home, Tony."

It’s the second time Bruce has brought it up today. No matter how much fun Tony has had figuratively tugging Bruce’s pigtails, he won’t test this request. They’re packed and on a private jet the next day.

When they land in New York, Bruce sets to work readying his tables without hesitation. He enlists Tony’s assistance with a measured calm that tells Tony he’s been planning this latest experiment for a while. 

Tony isn’t aware of any pressing projects Bruce is working on. There’s the usual, however: Bruce’s ever-present experiments to rid himself of 'The Other Guy'. Bruce thinks Tony doesn’t notice; he thinks he's being sneaky. But there's not much one can hide in a lab designed by Anthony H. E. Stark. 

Watching Bruce from the periphery of the lab, Tony prays this isn't about further suppressing Hulk. At his core, he worries his prayers are in vain.

Bruce tells Tony of his need for a vial of blood, and Tony isn’t sure how to tell Bruce that under no uncertain terms, they’ll need to wait. A needle piercing Bruce’s skin is a precarious thing under the best of circumstances, but if Hulk were to suspect Bruce’s designs… Well, another rampage wouldn’t look good on either Bruce or Tony’s ledger. 

So, Tony stalls. Tony dodges calls from Nick and upgrades the security on his and Bruce’s floors so they won’t be disturbed. And he stalls some more.

For a week, Tony dances around Bruce with casual disrespect, accepting consequences that leave him tight in the pants, squirming with desire, and wondering how Bruce has such a hold over him. 

For a week, Tony distracts Bruce with unabashed impudence and flirtations. Tony tortures himself, and it’s the sweetest sin: to hear Bruce’s breath hitch, to see the man’s eyes go dark, to feel Bruce’s hands grow bold enough to tug Tony’s hair like it’s some kind of reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obrigado. Isso foi delicioso. (Thank you. This is delicious.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony

**⁂  
TONY**

“When you said the conference was coming up, I didn’t think you meant so soon.” Tony isn't whining. He may have spent their first week back in New York making a game out of pushing Bruce's buttons, seeing how far he could push before Bruce would put his foot down, but he isn't complaining now. The change of scenery, change of pace, has been good for them, good for Bruce. Another trip could lead to more of the same.

Across the lounge Bruce grabs a clean pair of socks from his soon-to-be packed pile of clothing. The look he gives Tony is just as satisfying as hearing Bruce call him a brat under his breath. 

“If you don’t want-”

“I’m ready to go. OK?" Tony lays his tablet atop his favorite pillow from home and pushes down on the top of his suitcase. "I’m only saying I didn’t know. A head’s up would have been nice." If they’re going to play the 'do as I say' game, Tony needs specifics. "Mostly, I blame JARVIS.”

“I put it in your calendar,” Bruce states plainly.

“Precisely. It’s JARVIS’s fault for not reminding me.”

“You should be more mindful of your commitments.”

“Hey, I’m committed to-” Tony falters under Bruce’s sharp gaze. “I can be committed.” 

Bruce gives a short hum as he bends at the waist to remove his socks.

“So, how are we doing this thing? Jet? Suit? One small step for Bruce, one giant leap for-” Tony nearly catches his finger in his suitcase as it fails to lock. Apparently, Bruce’s ass is just that distracting. 

Tony squirms. 

  
Bruce knows what he’s doing, lingering in that position. It's a tease inviting Tony to fantasize but not touch. _Look with your eyes, not with your hands._

Bruce lets out a faint grunt as he tugs apart the pair of socks he's chosen to replace the ones balled on the floor and Tony swallows a whimper.

Sure, Tony flirts. And he thrills whenever Bruce responds to it. But, Bruce is different. His flirtation is different. Bruce is deliberate; his actions are methodical. He is thinking them through, even when what he does seems natural. So, yes, Bruce knows what he's doing, leaving his ass in the air, and his feigned innocence is quickly driving Tony insane.

Again, Tony pushes down on his suitcase and his desire, and he tries not to stare at the slight wiggle in Bruce's hips as the man switches out the thick wool socks he wears in the lab for… for the… for whatever the hell is keeping him bent over for so long.

But pulling his attention from Bruce's body only lends Tony's thoughts room to fixate on what had transpired between him and Bruce that morning. To think, Tony had been doing so well distracting himself from thinking of breakfast. Now, Tony's mouth waters and his pants feel tighter. Goosebumps rise on his arms.

At breakfast, Bruce may not have had Tony under the table taking scraps from his hand, but he'd watched Tony move around the kitchen before telling him to join him at the table with an intensity that made Tony feel alive under his attention. Bruce had pushed the sugar bowl out of Tony’s reach and encouraged him to eat his grapefruit without sweetener with such authority it had left Tony's head spinning. And that was even before the man had bemoaned the chef’s cooking and informed Tony that he much preferred the breakfasts his host had prepared in Malibu... 

_'Remember the eggs? They were perfect. And the melon had been so ripe._ '

Tony’s cheeks had grown hot at the compliment, but they had gone aflame when Bruce licked his lips and moaned as if tasting the juice of the cantaloupe from his memory. Of course, Bruce didn’t stick around long after his ~~innocent~~ sinful display. There were things to pack for their trip and notes to write for when they returned so Bruce would remember where he left off.

Tony had watched him go with the hope that a few minutes alone would be enough to curb his hunger for the man, to no avail. Every bite of sour grapefruit reminded him of Bruce’s craving for sweet melon. 

Eventually, Tony gave up his fruitless attempt to drive his thoughts away from Bruce's mouth. His retreat had taken him to the shower where he could better attend to the situation that had been growing harder to ignore. 

Getting started had been easy. Feeling his hand wrap around himself had been a relief. Each pump of his fist had been a sweet promise for release. But, in the end, Tony couldn’t bring himself to finish. 

The shower had felt too big, too empty, too cold without Bruce in it. Not that Bruce had ever shared the stall with him before. Not that Tony had dared to ask for his company, no matter how deep his yearning. 

Without Bruce’s breath on his neck, his voice in his ear, his hands on his skin, Tony didn’t want to bring himself over the edge. He thought, maybe if he was good enough, maybe if he could get Bruce to really notice him… Then, maybe, Bruce would give him permission to come, order his orgasm, or even bring him off with his own hand. Or mouth. Or-

Tony does his best not to make a sound as his eyes snap back to Bruce. 

Bruce’s meticulously laid-out clothing and toiletries go into his bag in far less time than Tony thinks it should take. When Bruce slings the bag over his shoulder and heads for the door in a fluid movement, Tony remembers this is normal. This is Bruce’s normal. Being on the go, on the run.

Tony hurries after him, dragging his own suitcase behind him on wheels. “Looks like there’ll be some time this evening if you want to do some sightseeing.”

Bruce keeps on truckin’ full speed ahead until he comes upon the closed elevator doors. “I like Rodin.”

**⁂**

At the hotel, Tony offers to give Bruce some time to himself. “I'm sure after the drive you need a minute. Call me if you need me; you’ve got my number.” 

Tony lingers between the adjoining bedrooms, waiting for Bruce to say something, do anything. “There’s some reading I wanted to catch up on so… yeah. I’m gonna go do that.”

Conversation in the car had flowed well until they approached Philadelphia. Bruce’s visit to the Rodin Museum was brief; he seemed to have one sculpture in mind to visit and had spared little enthusiasm for the rest. When they returned to the car, Bruce had quieted in a way that warned Tony not to interrupt.

“What are you reading?” Bruce asks.

“Ah-um.” Bruce’s sudden interest catches Tony off-guard. “It’s some psychology pieces.”

“Oh? You have an… interest in psychology?”

“I’m very interested in this topic, yes.” At the tilt of Bruce’s head, Tony elaborates, “Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

“Why is that?”

Tony ducks his head. Bruce has to know why. It’s not like Tony has been very subtle regarding his attraction. And Tony always endeavors to understand that which piques his curiosity. Under his lashes, Tony’s eyes flit between the curious pinch of Bruce’s expression and the well-polished toes of his own shoes.

“Have you been reading about something else, Tony?”

Tony scratches his elbow before shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He rolls back his shoulders and gives an answering nod.

“Would you like to talk about that?”

This time, the movement of his shoulders cannot be construed as anything other than a shrug.

“You can go to your room, if you like. Or you may stay.”

“Bruce, have you always been… does a part of you enjoy being in control?” Tony says ‘control’ heavily.

“I do.” The words sound like they’re coming from somewhere deep in Bruce’s chest. “Of most things.”

**⁂**

Neither of them sleep long nights so they spend the early hours of the morning putzing around the suite. There’s a breakfast reception in the ballroom before the conference kicks off, but it doesn’t open until 7. 

The extra time gives Tony an opportunity to work on his weekend disguise - a clean shave - not that Bruce makes it apparent that he notices.

“I have a presentation to attend at 9,” Bruce says as Tony emerges from the bathroom smelling of Barbasol and aftershave. “I’m going to see if there’s herbal tea downstairs.”

Tony checks the clock and ignores his need for Bruce’s acknowledgement of his change in appearance, for his approval. He says, “Grab me a coffee, too, while you’re down there.” 

Making a demand of Bruce feels off, but he wasn’t invited to the banquet hall. Bruce had brought dinner back to the room last night; Tony figures the same rules apply this morning. “Black, sugar and skim on the side,” he continues his order. “And some kind of omelette thing. Or a protein shake. Do you think they have green smoothies?”

“Tony,” Bruce says over the rush of Tony’s stream of consciousness.

Tony snaps his mouth shut.

“Just come with me.”

Tony brightens a bit, stands straighter, hurries to put on his shoes and run a comb through his hair. “How do I look?” he asks off-handedly.

Bruce’s appraisal starts at Tony’s face and travels down his body to his toes. A trail of goosebumps is left in its wake. 

“Your belt doesn’t go with those shoes.”

Another refusal to acknowledge the obvious. Tony’s shoulders want so badly to slump, but he won’t let them. 

And was Bruce giving him fashion advice now? “I can change my shoes.”

“Keep them on; change the belt. Wear the navy suspenders.”

“I don’t have-”

“They’re in my closet.”

Bruce glances at his watch as if Tony is being timed and the clock is already ticking.

**⁂**

Breakfast is better than Tony expected. There are no smoothies, but the pancakes and turkey bacon are good. He eats more than he probably should, but lunch isn’t until 2 and he didn’t pack snacks. He grabs a banana and an orange from the basket at the end of the buffet for midday. 

Bruce is flipping through a binder supplied by the Ace Laboratories’ Global Chemical and Biological Reduction group with a to-go cup at the ready when Tony returns to their breakfast table. Without looking up, Bruce says, “I think you should go back to the room.” He turns another page. “This roster, the list of attendees and presenters, it’s quite a crowd. Someone may recognize you.”

“Oh. Um.” Tony passes a hand over his smooth chin in perhaps a subconscious attempt to draw Bruce’s attention to his freshly-shaven appearance. “Have a good time, then.”

At that, Bruce spares Tony a glance. “You, too.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony

**⁂  
TONY**

Tony tries. Really, he does. He calls up blueprints of his favorite projects, ones that have little to do with anything practical. Ones that he wished could draw his attention away from the queue from SHIELD that grows larger in his mind with every hour. 

He watches Errol Flynn's _Robin Hood_ and Mel Brook's _Men in Tights_. By noon Tony is bored out of his gourd.

Tony waits for Bruce alone, without texts or a call. 

Without any word if they are meeting up for lunch, Tony waits. 

2:00PM comes and goes and still Tony sits in the hotel room. He orders a burger and eats it cross-legged on the floor of the lounge with a frown. It doesn’t feel anything like kneeling at Bruce’s feet. But it’s something.

**⁂**

The door to the suite opens and closes. 

Tony knows it’s after 3:30PM because he’s had his watch propped against the pillar candle on the mantle and his eyes glued to it for the past two hours. His shirt is soaked with sweat from the calisthenic workout routine he’s sure was developed by some 1920's housewife. Probably Steve’s mom. It started off pretty easy. But after forty-five minutes of tiny windmill-arms and hula-hips on a full stomach, Tony is happy to call it quits.

Bruce has that disheveled, frayed look about him when he walks in and Tony figures Bruce is past due for a break. He should lie down.

“I’ll head into the other room,” Tony says. “Give you a minute.”

Bruce lifts his arm like it’s holding a heavy weight. “Don't.” It’s a request, not a command, and the tone sounds wrong coming from him. “Unless… you need… a minute.”

“No, no.” Tony could really use a shower, but if Bruce wants him to stay, well... “I thought-” Tony shakes his head to straighten his thoughts. Meeting Bruce face to face is a poor choice for Tony’s resolve. “You make this hard, you know that?”

“Excuse me?” 

“I thought we were- I thought things were _different_ now. I came here to watch you wipe the floor with those other geniuses and I got left in the room all day. What gives? Am I here just… just in case?”

“In case?”

Tony lifts his eyebrows, begging Bruce to clue in. “Are you worried someone may decide to _smash_ the party.”

“Oh.” A flicker of emotions pass over Bruce's face before settling on an even-tempered understanding. 

“What was that, huh?” Tony squints at Bruce’s eyes trying to recall the expressions he’d seen in the flash. “Just then. What happened then?”

Bruce massages his temples and when he speaks again, his words sound like an apology. “When I told you to wait here, I thought- Well, I didn’t think you’d-” Bruce’s inhale is a measure of defeat. “You're not what- _We're_ not- How could we be? You don't trust me that way. How could you?”

“What the hell are you talking about? There is literally no one on the planet I trust with my life more than you,” Tony swallows hard. He doesn't add Hulk to the equation; he can read Bruce well enough to see that would help nothing, even if it is the truth.

Tony takes a deep breath, drags his teeth over his bottom lip before he dares to ask, “What am I not, Bruce?”

“It's nothing, Tony. Please don-”

Tony raises his hand and he's practically begging Bruce not to continue his sentence. If they don't talk now, they never will. “If you ask me to drop this I will. But I don't want to.” Tony falters, almost laughs. “I mean I do. I really do. I'd love to skip over all the awkward conversation and get right to where we can be… be…”

“Where would you like to be, Tony?”

Tony's breath hitches as he hides his hands behind his back. With one wrist secure in the hold of his other hand, Tony's gaze falls to Bruce's socked feet; Tony's chin drops toward his chest.

The three paces it takes Bruce to reach Tony's place near the fireplace pass in a blink. Bruce's knuckles hover, but don’t touch, as they trace the line of Tony's jaw until they come to rest beneath his chin. 

Bruce’s whisper catches in his throat. “You're right.”

“I know.” Tony's eyes flick upward and he can't help the cheeky smile that comes out to hide his nerves. “About what?”

“We need to talk.”

Tony holds himself straighter, hoping he’s doing this right. He returns his eyes to the floor and tries desperately not to peek up at Bruce through his lashes, but to see the pleased look in Bruce’s eyes is intoxicating.

“May I touch you?” Bruce asks, dropping his hand from Tony’s face.

“You’re asking me?”

“Of course.”

“Oh.” Isn’t Bruce supposed to be in charge? At the Tower, at home, it has always felt like Bruce was OK with touching Tony as he wished. Tony bites his lips together. “Um...”

“That’s not an answer.”

The anticipation of Bruce’s hands on him blurs Tony’s thoughts. “You can… touch me.”

Bruce hums and his hands are on Tony’s lower back and his shoulders. “Watch your posture. You can keep your eyes on me unless I order differently. I want you submissive but not... scared.”

“I'm not.”

Bruce stills, his hands hovering inches from where they had been coaxing Tony into position. “Submissive?”

Tony meets his eye without a trace of doubt or waver in his voice. “Scared. I don't feel scared when I'm with you.” 

“And what is it you do feel when you're with me?”

“I… I _want_.”

The reactor feels like it's on the fritz when Bruce tips his head close enough that Tony can practically taste peppermint candy on his breath.

“What do you want?”

Tony surges forward with every intention to take what he wants with his lips, to lick the sugar from Bruce's teeth with his kiss. But suddenly there’s a forearm across his chest, immobilizing him against the brickface of the fireplace, throwing a wrench in his plans and inspiring the most delicious flames of desire low in his belly.

“Talking, no touching.” Bruce is firm and gentle with his hold and his tone. “Tell me, Tony.”

Tony sputters a non-answer as his breath catches in his throat.

“Is that all one has to do to confound the brilliant Tony Stark? Ask him what he truly desires?”

It doesn’t sound like Bruce is disappointed, more like he’s amused. Even so, Tony wonders aloud, “Am I… am I in trouble?” 

The things he’s seen, the things he’s been reading about Dominant and submissive relationships include passages about consequences. And this is the first time Tony has voiced understanding of what they’ve been doing aloud. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged understanding that whenever Bruce ignored him, left him hard and wanting, Bruce was putting Tony in his place for using playful, yet irreverent, snark.

“Do you want to be?” Bruce asks.

_Fuck_. Expelling a hard breath, Tony looks down and away. All the teasing, all of the times he was sure he heard Bruce whisper the word ‘brat’ under his breath, flash through Tony’s mind. “I don't… I don't know.”

“You're not breaking any rules, Tony. You're not going to be punished. We're only talking.”

“I'm not good at this part.”

“Talking?” Bruce lifts an eyebrow and gives Tony’s posture a light adjustment. Tony’s shoulders roll into place and Bruce’s hands smooth down Tony’s arms. Callused fingers encircle Tony’s wrists as Bruce brings them between their bodies. He says softly, “Ok. Dinner, then.”

“You still want to have dinner with me?”

Bruce fixes his hold on Tony’s wrists so that he is gripping both with one of his hands. “Yes.” With his free hand, he removes his own tie.

“You’re not going to ask if that’s what I want?”

Bruce gives Tony’s wrists a light squeeze, and bends his arms at the elbow. Tony’s wrists come to settle in front of the reactor at his chest. Bruce’s eyes narrow as he wets his lips. “No.” 

Bruce’s grip on Tony’s wrists ache and his hands are feeling a little numb, but he wants to ask Bruce to squeeze harder; he wants to step closer into Bruce’s space. He wants to press up against him, let Bruce feel him tremble, let Bruce feel the line of arousal growing thick against his thigh.

“I’ll be at the rooftop lounge.” Bruce releases Tony’s wrists. “You’re under no obligation to join me but I’d like it if you did.”

**⁂**

By the time Tony is composed enough to meet Bruce for dinner, the sun is already dipping below the horizon and there are a pair of salads on the table.

“You knew I’d come.”

Bruce tilts his head. “I thought you might - one way or another.” The double entendre hangs heavily under the weight of Bruce's stare.

Tony looks down at the tri-color salad in front of him certain he’s as red as the tomatoes on the plate. 

“Did you?” Bruce asks as if it’s common to discuss masturbation over dinner. “It would be alright if you did.”

“Geez, Bruce, buy a guy dinner first.” But Tony figures that’s exactly what is happening. Tony’s going to get a reward after this, if he behaves on their date. Their date. _Oh my god, it’s a date._ “Are we really doing this?”

“I believe that’s what tonight’s discussion should cover, what it is we intend to do.” Bruce is so casual about all this that it’s unnerving. That it took so long to get to this point almost hurts. 

Tony knows that control is a Bruce thing, but doesn’t the guy feel a little excited? Maybe the disinterest is a Dominant thing. Tony waves over a waiter. He orders a generous portion of cognac, indicating with his fingers just how full he’d like his glass. 

Bruce’s audible sigh is one of disapproval. “There are other ways to quiet the mind.”

“Yeah, well, not really a yogalates kinda guy.”

“I was speaking more of discipline.”

“What, like punishments? You’re gonna tan my hide for having a drink?”

“Of course not. There is more to consequence than that kind of punishment. But if either of us are to imbibe, play - including consequences - will be taken off the table. ”

Tony’s eyes narrow at the gravity in Bruce’s tone, the stiffness in his posture. “Because of Hulk.”

“Because it isn’t safe, no matter who we are. I’ve told you a boundary of mine. You tell me one of yours.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. You’ve read enough on the subject to have this conversation. I know you’ll read more. Tell me one thing.”

Tony knocks his fork into a tomato and watches it roll between the lines of cucumber slices arranged on his plate. “I don’t want to be tied up. No handcuffs, no restraints. I- If we need to Assemble, then I need mobility.”

“That’s not a problem. I trust you to remain in place under my order alone.”

“I will.” Tony runs his finger along the edge of his glass before speaking again. “But I think I’d like it if you… If you hold me down. Just you. Your weight. Your strength.”

Bruce’s mouth twitches with the hint of a smile.

“I suppose you’ll want to talk hard and soft limits. Kinks. All that?”

Bruce drags his last forkful of salad through the dressing left on his plate. “You’re practiced in contract negotiation, we can discuss all that in New York. For now,” he lifts the fork and pauses at his lips, “why don’t we just have a conversation.”

“Ok.”

Bruce finishes his bite, then asks, “What do you find appealing in a Dominant?”

“Curly hair, dark eyes, and a tendency to turn into an enormous green rage monster. Next question.”

The _*tink*_ of Bruce’s silverware against the plate as he sets it down is indicative of how important he views the dinner. “Take this seriously or we’ll be discussing your consequences sooner than your kinks.” 

Tony shirks the attitude and tries the question again. He goes on to describe his submissive side and Bruce explains what he means by ‘gentle’ Dom. They trade boundaries through the first course and entrée. By the time Bruce orders them tea to end the meal, Tony is feeling giddy and light and brazen.

“You don’t have to be,” Tony says.

“Be what?” 

“Gentle. I know you’d never hurt me in a way I wouldn’t like.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony

**⁂  
TONY**

Tony is sitting in the lounge area of the suite, scanning a rough draft of a D/s contract when Bruce announces from the Master Bath, “We’re expected at the reception at 8:30. I expect you ready and at the door by 8:15.”

At 8:14 Tony emerges from the bedroom. He takes silent strides to the door and waits by the coat closet in a posture of what he read was submissive attention. He had been delighted to find the typical posture is close to one he’s been using with previous partners, with Bruce, since the beginning. 

In the center of the room, Bruce pulls a sweater over his shirt and tie, sweeps a hand through his shower-dampened curls, and then tugs at his sleeves. He doesn’t so much as glance at Tony until he has made his way to the door.

The sound of the handle turning has Tony’s heart racing. 

Bruce says, “After you,” and Tony has to step around him in order to reach the hallway. He stays close enough that Bruce could easily touch him as he passes. He wants Bruce to touch him, even if it’s the hand of warning on the small of his back telling him he’s crossed the line into personal space. But Bruce keeps his hands to himself and Tony wishes he could shrink instead.

They don’t exchange another word as they reach the lounge. When Tony steers them directly to the bar, he reads Bruce’s disapproval in the creases of his brow. He wishes Bruce would trust him; Tony trusts Bruce implicitly. With alcohol, however, Tony knows he hasn’t set the best track record. With alcohol, even though he wants to, Tony’s not sure he can.

But this isn’t about getting drunk. 

Tony orders, “A pair of Virgin Sunsets,” and doesn’t mind when the bartender has to ask him to refresh his memory regarding the recipe. 

Bruce accepts the drink with a low sound of approval and pulls the wedge of pineapple from the lip of the highball glass. The wet sounds Bruce makes as he sucks the garnish do things to Tony that really shouldn’t be happening in public.

When Bruce’s mouth puckers at the taste, Tony wants to lick the sheen of pineapple juice from his lips. 

“Bromelain,” Bruce frowns. Tony wishes he could heal Bruce’s lips and tongue from the pineapple’s sting, then takes a sharp breath when Bruce holds the wedge over Tony’s glass. “Do you mind?”

Tony stares at the fruit, at Bruce’s fingers, and gives the faintest shake of his head. “I don’t mind,” his voice is thick with the arousal he is trying and failing to hide.

Bruce drops it in, bites the inside of his red, irritated lips, and waits. 

With eyes locked on Bruce’s Tony listens to the thunderous beat of his heart. The closer Tony brings his drink to his lips, the wider Bruce’s pupils dilate. By the time Tony takes a sip, Bruce’s eyes are blown black. Tony feels as though his reactor has lost its whir. 

As Bruce leads Tony to a private corner, Tony thinks the tightness in his slacks must be noticeable. There’s a rounded booth, with pillows and small candles illuminating the shadowy space. Bruce invites him to sit. Once Tony is as comfortable as he is going to get, Bruce takes the pineapple from the rim of Tony’s glass and eats it as well. 

“Mm,” he moans around the fruit. “Will you do something for me tonight?”

The leather seat groans as Tony squirms and Tony doesn’t think anyone would notice if he slipped his hand underneath the table to adjust himself. But he doesn’t want to give Bruce the satisfaction, not yet. “What do you need?”

Tony doesn’t think he’s imagining it when Bruce’s eyes go dark. Tony has to shift again when their knees brush and a shock of arousal causes his cock to jump. He takes a long drink from his glass.

“Let me do the talking,” Bruce commands.

Tony’s jaw drops, just a fraction, but he doesn’t utter a sound. He has only a minute to enjoy Bruce’s grin before a parade of conference attendees comes to introduce themselves to the infamous Dr. Banner. 

The quirk of Bruce’s lips and the knee firmly pressed against his own is enough encouragement for Tony to spend the next fifteen minutes in silence. 

Established scientists and their protégés approach the table. They apologize for the smallest transgressions: speaking out of turn, stepping on Bruce’s toes, misquoting facts. Tony assumes Bruce sets them up to gauge their reactions. Bruce lets them worry he’ll lose his cool and the Other Guy will break through. Tony suppresses a chuckle. 

The fifth visitor is the microneural biologist, Melinda Leucenstern. She’s as intelligent as she is beautiful. And she doesn’t seem to fall for Bruce’s tricks. She’s unafraid. 

Their next guest isn’t quite so cordial, and Tony’s interest in her holds no praise. 

“There’s a rumor going around that Iron Man’s been keeping tabs on you,” she says to Bruce. “That we might even see Mr. Stark chaperoning you about.”

Tony bites his tongue as this woman looks right through him. Without the beard and the flashy suits, he really does know how to blend in.

When she bids them adieu, Bruce reaches for his cup only to find it empty.

Tony’s smile is both sheepish and coy. ‘I got thirsty,’ he would have said. But he knows the rules. He extends to Bruce the second pineapple garnish from his glass as an offering of peace.

Bruce sucks the life out of the wedge. What’s left on the rind is all but chewed. Tony blinks at the wasted fruit as Bruce disposes it in his glass. Bruce will expect him to eat it, Tony is almost certain. In this room full of strangers and colleagues, Bruce expects Tony to pick up the half-eaten pineapple and finish the job. 

After a staggered breath, Tony sets two fingers into the glass like pincers. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t compare completing this task to a kiss. Maybe it shouldn’t thrill him to taste Bruce on the pulp of discarded fruit. 

Before Tony’s fingers grip the rind, Bruce’s hand covers his to stop him. 

“Wait here. I have more boring colleagues to entertain.” 

Bruce's other hand grazes the back of Tony's neck as he stands and Tony suppresses a shiver. When Bruce leans in conspiratorially, Tony’s chills are warmed by the whisper on the curve of his ear. “You’re doing very well.” 

Then, Bruce is gone, taking with him his touch, his breath, and his words. 

Bruce struts, and Tony smirks behind his back. He can’t tear his eyes away. 

Seeing Bruce in his element is just as satisfying as Tony imagined it would be, even more so with every dark look of approval he's gotten.

Bruce is a natural schmoozer when he’s among his people. Either that, or everyone here recognizes exactly who he is - through and through - and they’re caught between awe and horror. Really, people are looking at him as he talks about Litvinenko and Polonium-210 and Schuller’s shoddy research study like they could listen to him for hours. Tony knows the feeling. 

They touch their faces and necks with coquetry when Bruce asks about their own opinions. They blush prettily, men and women alike, when Bruce compliments their ideas. 

Tony is absolutely fixated on Bruce’s movements, trying not to think about the minutes that have passed since Bruce left him alone to sit. Bruce wants him to watch, Tony thinks. Bruce wants Tony to want to do more than watch.

A new shadow in Tony’s periphery registers as a guest approaching, but not as a threat. The steps closing in are uneven, heavier on the left, though the imbalance is subtle. 

When the stranger’s hand comes to rest on the back of the booth, the leather sofa groans. Taking some of the weight off the weaker leg must provide the stranger some relief. The new guy’s expression goes from pinched to relaxed almost instantly.

Tony shifts further into the booth so they can sit.

“Ebersol,” the man introduces himself.

Tony nods and waves. Bruce is in his eyeline, and even if he wasn’t, Tony wants to be ‘good’.

“I… Gosh, I hate these things, you know?” Ebersol says. He runs a hand over the back of his head as if to smooth hair that used to be there. Bald is attractive on him. Tony wonders how long he’s been sporting the look. 

As if Tony’s eyes on his hands are a problem, Ebersol crosses his arms on the table and sighs. “Networking, huh? Wish people would cut through the superficiality of it all.” 

For someone so handsome -- in the way that comes with piercing blue eyes and hard angled features -- to denounce superficiality seems like they're cheating. But Tony understands. He hides his smile behind the last sip of his fourth Sunset cocktail. The sugar is making him nauseous, but the opportunity to taste Bruce on pineapple has been too tempting to pass up. He should have just asked for a bowl of garnish.

“Someone needs to fund the projects that will do the world real good,” Ebersol goes on. “I’m tired of playing games. Action yields results.”

Tony nods, then, thinking he’s been found out. The best thing about being recognized by things like a hot-rod-red metal suit of armor and distinctive facial hair is that when you strip those away, usually, Tony can hide in plain sight. Maybe he had gotten lucky with the woman earlier. Maybe she had known his identity all along.

Either way, Ebersol doesn’t hint at Tony’s identity any further. He doesn’t discuss the subject of money again. Instead, he tries to discuss bioorganics and chemistry. He knows enough for conversation but Tony knows more than enough to recognize that neither is Ebersol’s field.

After a glance toward Bruce, Tony turns more fully to his companion. The Ebersol name barely registers as familiar and Tony wants to know why. The man is young, perhaps trying to look older with the shaved head and thin, close-trimmed goatee. He’s trying to pretend to be someone he isn’t. That, ladies and gentle-people, sends up red flags.

“You don’t talk much. That’s all right. Most people talk and talk but they never say what they mean.” 

Ebersol excuses himself after that and Tony wishes he could find Bruce to lift the rule. Tony wishes that he didn’t have to wait out the reception on his own. He wishes that he could call Ebersol back to the booth. There’s more to him beneath the surface and Tony wants to dig. 

Tony finds Bruce thoroughly engaged in conversation with Melinda again. She is practically hanging off his arm. Bruce isn’t stepping out of her lean or guiding her out of his space. Tony releases a hard breath and chews at the bromelain-irritated taste buds dotting the edge of his tongue. 

To Tony’s surprise, Ebersol returns. He’s brought them a pair of drinks and his eyes shine when Tony looks up at him with invitation. 

“I wasn’t sure what you like.” He holds up the glasses. “Manhattan or brandy neat.”

Tony points for the brandy. 

He holds it in front of him, cupped between his palms. The way the wood of the table comes through the liquor, it’s like looking into the honeyed brown of Bruce’s eyes when they catch the sun. Tony turns to the blue eyes looking over at him and he smiles at the welcome company, the distraction.

“I was, uh, worried I came on a bit strong before.”

Tony shakes his head swiftly and swirls the drink in the glass. 

“I’m usually good with my hands.” Ebersol chuckles at Tony’s change in expression, suggestive and impressed. “I mean, oh god.” Ebersol is flushed from his neck to his ears. Even patches of his scalp have gone pink with embarrassment. “That’s not what I-” He starts again, “I’m a mechanic. A bioengineer.”

Tony sits straighter, suddenly more interested.

Seeing Tony perk up sends Ebersol into a whirlwind. He starts off slowly as if testing the waters. When it seems clear Tony is able to follow the science, Ebersol gets really into it. He demonstrates a passion for mechanical limbs for the disabled and Tony leans in.

Tony plays with the lip of his glass and only just stops himself from voicing a request for Ebersol to continue. A nod and a gesture do the job well enough. Bruce isn’t there to see, but Tony gets a thrill out of following the rules all the same. 

Ebersol speaks of ‘smart’ prosthetics like they are a personal matter and Tony figures they are, based on the way he hides his right hand and favors his left leg. Weapons are never part of the conversation and Tony thinks back to the VA benefit; he wonders if the man is ex-military. 

Ebersol is shy and soft and Tony finds himself charmed by the gentle way he unveils his intelligence.

“So, I’m used to knowing what to do with my hands but… tonight I’m at a loss because… you’re here and I’m rambling and I wish I knew how to sign so we could have an actual conversation.”

It takes a moment for Tony to catch on, but when he does he thinks it’s time for Bruce’s game to end. 

“You’re really sweet and I think you can read my lips or something, right?”

Tony nods. _Or something_. Then his eyes are back to searching the room for Bruce. 

“I don’t think I would have stayed at the reception this long if you weren’t here. But, uh, I should really…” Ebersol gestures to the crowd that has filtered in and sighs. “I’m Paul.” With a tentative reach, he slides his business card across the table. “If my complaining hasn’t completely run you off, you could text me sometime?”

Tony takes the card and tucks it in his pocket with a kind smile. The truth is, when Ebersol - Paul - rambled about biomechanics, he seemed to know his stuff. He didn’t speak out of his depth, filling in the blanks with bullshit trying to impress. He demonstrated his intelligence by focusing on his interests and his strengths. Ebersol expressed discomfort engaging with those in attendance at the reception. However, when discussing his field he came to life. 

He has a brain Tony wants to pick. Maybe a genius, maybe not, but Tony can tell Ebersol is dedicated, studious, and hard-working. If he passes background checks, he might make a good addition to Stark Labs. 

“Shoot,” Ebersol says as he stands. His suit needs a bit more straightening than the quick moves his hands make tugging and smoothing the fabric, and Ebersol seems a bit out of sorts in his struggle to iron out the wrinkles with his palms. 

When he sees Tony watching him it’s like he forgot he had an audience. Tony likes this guy, the innocence about him. It’s been a while since Tony’s been around someone in business who doesn’t act like Tony owes them something.

“Looks like I missed a few people.” Ebersol doesn’t sound disappointed by the thinning crowd. He throws a small, crooked smile over his shoulder. “Night, stranger.”

Tony stares into his drink, more than ready to knock it back and tell Bruce about the young, promising, not-quite-a-prodigy who just might have the chops and motivation to do great things at Stark Industries R&D. He pushes the drink away with a frown.

Tony feels like an asshole for not speaking freely, for leading the guy to think he was hard of hearing or deaf or mute. Tony knows he’s leading the guy to think more than that, to think Tony is interested in him on a personal level. But he can’t explain any of that tonight, can he? He can’t do that while he and Bruce are playing their game. He can’t explain himself to Ebersol _and_ be ‘good’ for Bruce. 

Tony figures Ebersol finds him physically attractive, but beyond that Tony has given him little upon which to build feelings of a romantic nature. It is likely the man is projecting whatever personality he wants in a partner onto the blank slate of Tony’s silence. _Tabula rasa._ Tony read about that blank slate thing in the psych papers he’s been sifting through. There can be nothing between Tony and Ebersol, anyway. As engaging as their conversation had been, Tony’s interest in him doesn’t veer from professional. 

Tony considers his interaction with Ebersol and the misunderstanding that had passed between them. As practiced as he is in social situations, Tony wishes people came with manuals -- that’s what he has been hoping to find in the psychology research, isn’t it?

But no, the answers to understanding Paul or the Bruce and Hulk dynamic aren’t going to be found in anything published. And it is the latter that fuels Tony’s drive for clarity.

Tony is tired of feeling useless, helpless, and in the dark while Bruce tinkers away at his station, disappears in meditation, trying to destroy a part of himself. And the articles on DID haven’t been all bunk. Tony recognized when Bruce was trying to talk to Hulk after they smoked on Labor Day, didn’t he? Plus, he and Bruce finally had their talk about Bruce’s _control issues_. 

_Yep_ , Tony thinks as he stands from the booth, _there’s something about the quiet ones._

Having successfully maintained silence since Bruce walked away, Tony preens before heading to the elevators. He wears a smile but there’s an edge to it that only an idiot would test. Tony steps into the lift alone. He presses the door close button to keep it that way. 

Though there are hotel guests that eye Tony with lecherous grins and alcohol-fueled confidence, Tony is single-minded in his goal to get back to the suite. The suite is where he’ll find all he needs: a break and a bed and… Bruce.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> (explicit)

**⁂**   
**TONY**

Tony lets himself into the room. 

Urgency and excitement fade into pleasant quietude when he hears Bruce's soft snores. It's a familiar sight, Bruce asleep in a slump on the couch. His neck lies at an ungainly angle, his chin lolling onto his chest. Tony wonders if now, with boundaries and rules being drawn up in a contract, it would be too forward of him to arrange Bruce's head into a more comfortable position. 

He thinks about dropping a chaste kiss to Bruce's forehead but settles for trailing his hand along the back of the sofa instead. 

Bruce's legs, too long for the loveseat, extend over the armrest dangerously close to the end table. Tony resists the urge to tickle the arches of Bruce's feet. There’s no ‘accidental’ brush of Tony’s fingertips over the slip of skin displayed between Bruce’s socks and the hem of his pants. Tony won't disturb his well-deserved rest. 

Tony's gaze follows the bend of Bruce’s legs to the curl of his body until it reaches his right arm. It hangs down and rests on the floor. Bruce’s fingertips graze the fringe of a wide pillow. 

The cushion must have been tossed or knocked to the carpet. It's too much to assume the pillow was set deliberately for Tony. He hovers by the pillow - drawn by the invitation of its plush fabric, its proximity to Bruce, the promise of Bruce's touch - and Tony thinks, _But maybe_.

In sleep, Bruce starts and gasps, catches his breath and pushes himself up so his neck arches over the armrest. To check Bruce’s vitals is Tony's first instinct. If Bruce is experiencing a nightmare, Tony’s knees may hit the pillow after all - not in play, but out of necessity. 

But Bruce’s readings are good. He experienced a brief apnea, likely due to the angle of his neck. Other than that, there’s nothing to raise concern. According to Bruce’s pulse and respiratory patterns, he’s been asleep for only a few minutes. 

Tony ensures that Bruce’s automatic alarm is set to intervals of ‘20 minutes after sleep is detected’ and leaves him be.

For Tony, freshening up in the restroom and changing into loungewear take surprisingly little time. There’s work he can do to fill the rest of the evening, if only he can track down his tablet. Tony tiptoes through the suite in his search.

However, the main living area is in disarray. He fears his search may be more challenging than one at the penthouse, where the rooms are more numerous and expansive but certainly better kept. Bruce’s sprawl of limbs has knocked not only throw pillows onto the floor but blankets and a small stack of books as well. Even the neat fan of magazines that Tony arranged while trying to find things to do this afternoon have been scattered around. 

Mindful of his light-sleeper companion, Tony takes care tidying the room. 

He thinks about the pillow still at rest between the coffee table and the sofa. He thinks about how the cushion would feel under his knees, how Bruce's hand would feel in his hair. He thinks about Bruce’s eyes looking down on him and Tony's blood rushes through his veins at the memory. 

He leaves the pillow at Bruce’s fingertips for last.

**BEEP BEE-**

Tony jumps and Bruce cuts off the alarm almost immediately without so much as opening his eyes.

The resulting groan of Bruce's waking is near sinful. Tony wishes he'd followed his train of thought all the way to the floor at Bruce's side. He would have been close enough to feel Bruce's moan. It would have vibrated through his core. Even from the other side of the coffee table, warmth pools in Tony's belly. 

Tony wants to tell Bruce how good he was the rest of the party. He wants to hear Bruce tell him he was good. He wants to feel Bruce’s lips move over the edge of his ear as they form words of praise.

Tony has a white knuckled grip on a decorative vase when Bruce sits up. 

Bruce’s voice is rough with sleep, his eyes are barely open as he blinks up at Tony. “You're here.”

Unsure if he's allowed to speak, Tony nods.

Bruce stares long enough for Tony to doubt his dedication to the silence.

Bruce gives a short shake of his head and a soft apology. “I'm sorry. Of course you are.”

It’s not a statement that makes any sense. 

_Where else would I be?_

Pushing away the question, Tony’s eyes follow Bruce as he stands and makes his way to the dresser. 

Tony places the vase on the table and moves on to stacking the books, large to small. He doesn’t think the soft swish of hardcovers sliding over one another is unpleasant, but it catches Bruce’s attention with a slow turn of his head and a hum.

“Are you so desperate for entertainment that you’re redecorating?”

Tony isn’t sure why the question inspires him to abandon his task and stand in the position of attention, waiting for a command.

As Bruce changes out of his professional clothing into a matching pajama set, Tony wonders what Bruce has in mind. Maybe he has another game they can play. Maybe this time when they play Bruce will keep Tony close enough to see how well he can follow the rules when he wants to. 

For Bruce, Tony wants to follow the rules.

The warmth in Tony’s belly sinks deeper, like it had at the cocktail party, and Tony shifts his weight from one foot to the other where he stands.

Bruce wipes his hands over his face and Tony can see the strain of the day settle over his features just for a second before Bruce steels his expression again. He’s tired. Bruce has missed more than one nap today, a handful this weekend. In addition to that, Bruce has been socially ‘on’ since they stepped out of the car. If what Tony has been reading about introverts holds up for Bruce, he could be well on his way to exhaustion.

“I saw you made a friend at the party.”

Tony doesn’t think he has permission to speak out loud yet. And if he can’t respond, then he can’t assure Bruce that he has it all wrong. 

Ebersol is a curiosity at the least, a contemporary, a potential work colleague at most. 

Tony wants to tell Bruce all of this, but there are rules and Tony wants to follow them. He’s not only the ‘brat’ who enjoys pushing Bruce’s buttons at home, he’s ‘good’. He wants to prove to Bruce that he can be ‘good’. 

With an unreadable expression, Bruce takes a water bottle from the fridge and makes his way to the sofa. Tony watches the small frown play upon Bruce’s features and considers speaking without permission. Even if there is a consequence, Tony will gladly suffer it in order to clear up this misunderstanding. He doesn’t think he can bear having Bruce believe he had been conversing - flirting - with Paul Ebersol for much longer. 

“He is a gentleman, I presume.”

In Bruce’s eyes, in his tone, Tony feels an unspoken possessive. A silent _mine, mine, mine_. It’s radiating from Bruce and wrapping around Tony, holding him and pulling him in and it’s like a rope twined around his chest. An anchor. It’s like a blanket, tucked around him tightly. A comfort. 

Tony sits next to Bruce and wonders what it would feel like to truly belong to him. He imagines it would feel like this, but more. The prospect of _more_ leaves Tony dizzy and the phone in his pocket trills with a message from JARVIS that absolutely must be ignored because in this moment there is only Bruce and the hand that has come to rest on the small of Tony’s back. There is the brush of lips against his ear as Bruce lifts the rule of silence with a whisper. 

Bruce’s hand slides under the hem of Tony's shirt. The heat of sleep lingers in Bruce’s touch, tracing the curve of Tony’s back, following his spine, down, down. 

“Tell me, Tony, who was that? The one sitting with you at the reception.” Bruce’s finger dips below the waistband of Tony’s pants and moves along the elastic, side to side.

“A biomech engineer,” Tony answers, his voice low. “Smart. I want to look into him for hire.”

“Mm.” 

The waistband of Tony’s lounge pants pulls tight against his stomach as Bruce pulls on it from behind. It snaps back with a light and teasing sting when Bruce lets go.

“He did all the talking.”

Bruce regards Tony with inquiry and turns Tony’s face with a firm grasp of his jaw. 

“I didn’t make a sound.”

As Bruce stares, he drags his thumb across Tony’s lips. “Not a sound?”

Tony gives the faintest shake of his head before sucking in his lower lip for a taste of Bruce’s touch. “Not an utterance.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“I didn’t.”

“I saw him bring you-”

“I didn’t drink it.”

Bruce drags his thumb over Tony’s mouth again, then hands him the bottle of water. “Drink this.” There’s fire in his gaze, a sharp contrast to the cold bottle Bruce presses into Tony’s hand. 

Tony obeys.

_Mine_. Bruce doesn’t say it aloud; Tony thinks he can hear it anyway. Tony doesn’t _need_ the word, but, fuck, he wants to hear Bruce call him his.

“Bruce,” Tony starts. Bruce glides his hand over Tony’s neck and Tony knows how to answer the question he was too scared to voice before the party. He knows what he wants. 

Maybe it’s the heat of Bruce’s gaze, the challenge it bears, but Tony wants to prove himself; he wants to give himself to Bruce completely.

Tony slides to his knees. It takes him out of Bruce’s reach, an error Tony remedies quickly before clasping his wrist behind his back. But once he’s in position, his knees just touching Bruce’s socked toes, Tony looks up. “Sir.”

Bruce moves without hurry bringing his hand to Tony’s chest, then takes his time sliding that hand up Tony’s neck and into his hair. Bruce grabs a scant fistful of what hair has grown in behind Tony’s ears and Tony vows to never crop it this short again. 

Bruce spreads his legs and encourages Tony forward. The hair-pull is steady; there’s no pain, but to move is imperative. Tony knee-walks until he is trapped. He moans as Bruce’s thighs close in on his sides. 

As they constrict, Bruce’s legs draw Tony’s hips to the edge of the couch; Tony’s chest is nearly flush with Bruce’s abdomen. The scent of sleep on Bruce carries in the air. Tony can feel himself being lulled into a place of calm, a feeling like he is right where he is supposed to be, even as his heart races so fast it’s skipping beats.

Then Bruce’s wide hands find new purchase in Tony’s hair and tip his head back. He doesn’t have to pull hard, Tony moves willingly. He’s become so pliant in the cage of Bruce’s thighs.

“JARVIS calls you ‘sir’,” Bruce says.

Tony can’t think of another title fit for a Dom. He hasn’t come across any that sound right for them. But, fuck it, if Bruce wants to be his Master, his King, he can wear the crown. If he wants JARVIS to stop calling him sir, wants the AI to refer to Tony as a dime store Steve Jobs, then Tony will make sure that’s remedied pronto. As long as Bruce continues looking at him like this, he can have whatever he wants. 

“Fuck, JARVIS,” Tony pants as Bruce exposes his throat at an extreme angle. “I’ll reprogram him right the fuck now.” Bruce bites at Tony’s adam’s apple before using his teeth to graze a rough stripe up to his chin. “Fuck, Bruce. Please.”

Bruce drags his nails over Tony’s scalp, from his hairline to the base of his skull; then he grabs new fistfuls of hair. Bruce draws Tony up, elongating his spine as Bruce tips his own face forward. The movement is slow, tantalizingly slow. The way Bruce’s eyes watch Tony’s mouth seems to broadcast his intentions. 

Bruce leans forward and sighs into the space between their lips. “God, the things you do to me. The things I’ll do to you.”

Tony draws in a sharp breath, sure it will be mere moments before he’ll feel the press of Bruce’s lips against his.

Bruce’s forehead against Tony’s is a hard push, rough. The nudge of his nose is answered by Tony’s wanton huff of desperation.

But the kiss doesn’t come. At the last second, when just a slip of air remains between their mouths, Bruce turns his head to the right. Stubble scrapes Tony’s cheek as Bruce leans toward his ear. “You misunderstood me. But I appreciate the initiative.”

Then, Bruce sits back, takes a swig from the abandoned water bottle and hands it to Tony as casually as if they were trading notes in the lab.

Tony blinks, his jaw hanging slack. Is Bruce not going to acknowledge the attack on his throat or the almost-kiss at all? 

Tony’s lips burn with a fantasy of the bruising crush of Bruce’s mouth on his. The cool drink does nothing to wash that away. Tony gives the water back and watches with vested interest in the way Bruce’s lips press against the mouth of the bottle as he finishes what is left. 

Imagining the swipe of Bruce’s tongue and the sting of his bite, Tony sucks and chews on his bottom lip. 

“You’re right,” Tony says at last. “I don’t understand.”

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

Tony shuffles impossibly forward and rises up of his own accord. The pressure of the sofa against his aching cock is a relief and torture in one. “Yes,” Tony breathes.

“Then call me Bruce and tell me what you want.”

Tony arches his hips against the couch, needing the friction, and hopes Bruce doesn’t catch on. “Bruce.” The name on his tongue sounds like a whimper and catches Tony by surprise. “Fucking kiss me already.”

Bruce gives Tony’s hair a firm tug and Tony’s hips move again. Maybe Tony does want Bruce to notice, if only to help. “Mind your manners,” Bruce says, clipped. “Only good boys belong in the bedroom.”

“Is- Is that where this is leading?” Tony glances toward the king-sized bed on the far end of the suite.

Bruce pushes Tony away from the couch and looks down at the obvious effect of their conversation tenting Tony’s lounge pants.

“Have you been saving your cock for me?” Bruce asks. “Or getting off against the filthy hotel upholstery?”

Shame flushes Tony’s face as arousal pools low in his belly. Precum drips from the tip of his cock; the wet spot will be visible soon. “I…” 

“Answer me. Do you think good boys rub themselves raw against the furniture?”

“Not without permission.”

Bruce takes Tony by the collar this time and pulls him in. Tony’s hips hit the sofa roughly. “Would you like permission, Tony?” Tony hums an affirmative as his collar tightens in Bruce’s grip. “Were you going to bring yourself off using nothing but the couch?” With his free hand, Bruce strokes his knuckles down Tony’s face. “Can you do that for me?”

Tony’s eyes go wide and Bruce’s pupils dilate. Tony shudders in his struggle to refrain from rolling his hips against the cushion. “Mhmm.”

“What was that?” Bruce’s knuckles pass over Tony’s cheek again and there’s no doubt he’s noticed Tony’s clean shave. 

“Yes.”

Bruce scoots lower on the couch, reclined and looking like he could reach his hand down his pants and stroke himself at any moment. But instead of lifting them from their new position on his thighs, Bruce hooks his ankles behind Tony’s knees. 

“Tony,” Bruce says, dragging Tony’s attention away from the line of Bruce’s half-erect cock showing through his lounge pants. “Shouldn’t you be moving?”

Tony whimpers as Bruce’s socked foot travels up his thigh to the cleft of his ass. “Not without permission.”

Bruce’s breath hitches as he sits up. The quick change of position brings them chest to chest now - Bruce holding Tony, cupping his face in his hands. Bruce brings his forehead down to Tony’s, drags his nose along the scarred line of Tony’s cheekbone. When he reaches Tony’s ear, he says, “Move,” like his voice has been dragged over gravel for miles.

Tony grinds against the couch, slow at first, biting back his moans until Bruce sucks his earlobe between his teeth.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” Bruce whispers between nips and kitten licks of Tony’s ear. “But if you want to keep those pretty sounds from me, maybe you’d prefer to be gagged.”

Tony shakes his head as his hips rock against the couch. A guttural moan builds within him and Tony’s lips part with its release.

Bruce’s thumb slips past Tony’s lips and presses down on his tongue. “Give me everything.”

Tony nods and moves faster. He sucks on Bruce’s thumb like it’s his dick and Bruce lets him. Though he wonders if any of this will lead to him having his mouth on Bruce, Tony’s cock aches for attention. 

Tony’s cock sticks to the fabric of his sweatpants and he thanks the gods of fuck that he had a mind to change while Bruce slept. His breathing is ragged; he’s not sure how much longer he can hold onto his wrist behind his back.

“That’s it,” Bruce says approvingly. He leans in again, like he’s going for a kiss, and Tony holds his breath. But Bruce draws a wet trail down Tony’s neck with his spit-slick thumb instead. His tongue follows the cooling line down to the collar of Tony’s shirt. 

Tony gives a whole body shiver when Bruce’s teeth nip at his clavicle. Then, Bruce is rising again, speaking low at his ear. “I hope you didn’t think you were getting any help tonight.”

Tony’s response is an incoherent mumble. An indecent moan. An unrestrained thrust.

Bruce hums lasciviously as he settles back against the cushions again. He folds his arms behind his head as he takes in the sight.

At the loss of Bruce’s hands holding him up, Tony’s head lolls forward. His own hands shoot out in front of him for balance and find Bruce’s upper thighs for support. Greedily, Tony grabs hold. 

He’s grinding against the couch in earnest now, the discomfort and humiliation adding just as much fucked up pleasure as the promise of impending release. Tony thinks he would be flaccid, would have hidden himself, if it weren’t for the delight and heat and… was that gratitude?... Tony sees when he looks into Bruce’s eyes. 

Tony’s hands walk up Bruce’s thighs to his hips and for a split second it doesn’t feel like he’s dry humping a sofa in a hotel room. No, Tony flies into a fantasy of fucking Bruce and his head swims in the high. His heart and dick swell with the image, and he wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to fuck Bruce for real.

Tony wonders if being submissive means he’ll be a bottom for the entirety of their relationship. 

_Maybe Bruce will fuck you and fill you and dump you in a heap wherever he sees fit._

_Or maybe this is all you get_ , Tony thinks. And the thoughts don’t bother him. In fact, they’re thrilling on their own. 

_Maybe he’ll be sweet, like the conversation at dinner suggested. Like the image brought to mind by Bruce’s description of himself: a ‘gentle Dom’._

Tony wonders if it’s possible to live in a world where he can have both extremes.

Tony moves faster. Harder. Moans toward climax. Gasps at the tightness in his core.

Bruce thrusts his own hips up, the smallest of movements, and Tony’s mouth goes dry at the thought of outlining the contour of Bruce’s erection with the tip of his tongue. Tony’s hips stutter in the trap of Bruce’s thighs as he grinds down hard. Then Bruce reaches for Tony. His fingernails drag down his arms; his hands seize Tony’s wrists in a bruising grip; and Tony cries out with his orgasm.

Bruce keeps Tony cuffed against his thighs, the look on his face pleased and sated through Tony’s daze.

“Look at you. My needy little mess. My impetuous brat. My good boy.”

Tony sways forward at that. His eyes flutter lazily, his mind floats, his body feels like an anchor. The only thing holding him upright now is the brace of Bruce’s legs around him. Even Tony’s arms have fallen slack, bent at the elbows.

Tony feels half asleep but Bruce’s words carry through the dreamlike fog. Tony hears the sentiment he’s been longing for: _mine, mine, mine_.

“Can you stand?” Bruce says, drawing himself up. He releases one of Tony’s wrists to stroke his sweat-damp temples. “I’m hungry. And we need to clean up this mess you made.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Melinda / Dr. Lucenstern (colleague of Bruce)

**⁂  
TONY**

Once he has Tony lying on the bed, Bruce unties the drawstring of Tony’s soiled pants and pulls them down to his knees. Despite the plush blankets beneath him and the controlled temperature of the room, Tony shivers. Exposed and raw, Tony pants under Bruce’s watchful eye. Bruce wasn’t kidding when he said he was hungry; the glint in his eye looks ravenous.

Bruce’s tongue is like an assault as he licks Tony clean. Shameless in his enjoyment, Bruce compliments Tony’s obedience, his pliancy, his taste. 

Tony is overstimulated to just this side of painful, but he arches into Bruce’s affection nonetheless. It’s his first time with Bruce like this, and Tony doesn’t want it to end.

When the tongue bath is complete and Bruce has passed a warm, wet cloth over Tony’s body, he outfits Tony with a pair of thick sweatpants and turns down the bed.

“You can sleep here, if you like.”

Already burrowing underneath the covers and turning onto his side, Tony makes a sleepy sound. “It’s not my pillow.”

“No.” The mattress moves under Bruce’s weight.

“Buckwheat sucks.”

Bruce heaves a heavy sigh.

Tony gives another sleepy moan and nuzzles into the hard, sucky pillow. “But it smells like you.”

Bruce’s hand is in Tony’s hair after that, his fingers raking loopy lines over his scalp.

“Stay?” Tony croaks as he fights sleep.

“I remember.” Bruce says, and Tony is glad they established aftercare requirements over dinner. Then, with a chuckle, Bruce adds, “The pillows do suck.”

With effort, Tony rolls toward Bruce and buries his face into his chest. “Take mine.”

“Hmm?”

“My pillow. Whatever you want,” Tony whispers, stroking the line between Bruce’s pectorals with a finger. “It’s yours.”

“Yes. You are.” Bruce gathers Tony in his arms and places a kiss on the crown of his head. 

“So you’ll stay?”

“Unless you need me to get you something else.”

Tony isn’t sure if he drifts off for a few seconds or an hour, but when he wakes up he’s still wrapped in Bruce’s arms. The sparse hair on Bruce’s chest is soft against Tony’s cheek. Bruce’s skin smells like soap and cologne and somehow like the warmth Bruce carries with him wherever he goes. Tony takes a moment to breathe him in before he makes an attempt to burrow deeper into Bruce’s embrace. 

“Bruce?” Tony asks, unsure if his companion had fallen asleep as well.

“Yes, darling.” Bruce sounds like a dream. “Need something?”

The word ‘darling’ on Bruce’s lips is almost too much; Tony almost forgets what he wants to say. What does he need beyond this moment? Tony can’t think of a thing. “Just you,” he says, “for now.” His stomach rumbles in the silence that follows and Tony can’t help but add, “Maybe later… a cheeseburger?”

Bruce presses a long kiss atop the crown of Tony’s head. 

“And a vanilla shake,” Tony continues through his grin, “with matcha powder.”

Muffled by Tony’s hair, Bruce’s warning carries no heat. “Don’t push it.”

“You can always use your safeword if I’m pushing past your limits, you know.”

Bruce’s chuckle sends tingles over Tony’s scalp and down his spine. “On the contrary; I’m going to enjoy how needy you are.”

Tony is surprised, given how tired he is, that he still has enough energy to blush. Coming from a family with so much, being the head of an international enterprise, he shouldn’t _want_ for anything. But he does. He wants Bruce. He wants to please Bruce well enough to be acknowledged and rewarded. He wants Bruce to pay close enough attention to see when he’s acting out and to take notice, to correct him, to take control of Tony before someone or something else takes advantage of him.

Stane, H.Y.D.R.A., the U.S. government, anonymous sex, alcohol, and drugs have all had their claws in Tony at some point. SHIELD still does. Tony is sick of feeling powerless at the hands of those he can’t trust, of those who seek to use and destroy him. Which is why he is hypervigilant and tuned in and turned up every waking moment when there’s a client or a contract or a meeting or a mission.

But this weekend it’s been him and Bruce - and Tony has never felt freer than when trapped between Bruce’s thighs. He’s never felt more in control than when handing over the reins to his Dom. He has never felt as safe as he is with Bruce - big, green rage monster and all.

**⁂**

At the hotel’s breakfast, Tony feels giddy and light. He idly tosses and catches an apple as he walks back to Bruce from the buffet table. The tea in his other hand is prepared just as Bruce likes it and Tony is rather pleased with himself for grabbing Bruce a cup before being asked. 

He’s less impressed by his failure to notice the person approaching him on the right. Tony frowns as his apple is snatched out of the air on its descent. 

At the sight of Paul Ebersol, he stops short.

“Hey,” Paul greets him gently, wearing an equally gracious smile.

Paul hands the fruit back and brings his hands in front of him nervously. “It was _nice to meet you_ ,” he says with small, nervous gestures.

_Oh, shit._ Tony’s expression is still one of shock as Paul’s cheeks grow red.

“Sorry,” Paul takes a quick glance at the ceiling. “That was probably really bad. I saw you grabbing coffee and I looked it up on my phone and… now I’m rambling again.”

“I’m…” Tony starts, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling sorry for this guy who’s clearly trying so hard. “Not deaf.”

“Oh. So last night?”

“My…” _boyfriend-partner-Bruce_ , “friend says I talk too much. I was trying my hand at… not.”

Paul takes a small step backward, his eyebrows drawn together in a small ‘v’. “Yeah. That’s pretty messed up.”

Tony shrugs and nods and doesn’t really know what to say other than: “It, uh, went a bit differently than I expected.”

“Right.”

“Stark, by the way. Tony.” He cradles the apple in the crook of his elbow. It’s an awkward balancing act, trying not to spill the tea or drop the fruit, but he manages to offer a hand for Paul to shake. His hand hovers in the air unaccepted.

Paul’s expression passes through offended, confused, shocked, and starstruck until it lands on him looking as though he’s seen a ghost. “So, you not only heard everything I said, but you understood it.”

“Yep. Good stuff, by the way.” Tony fishes out a business card and extends it to him. “Send me a resume, a summary of what projects you’re working on. If you don’t mind, I’d love to take a deeper look.”

“So, you’re… interested? In my work?”

Tony nods. “Quite.”

**⁂  
MELINDA**

From the notes of Dr. Melinda Lucenstern 

Subject’s Name: Banner, Robert B.

Age: 42

Bruce (host), Hulk (alter)

Affiliations: The Avengers, SHIELD

Abilities: invulnerability; superhuman healing factor; superhuman strength, stamina, and durability; anger empowerment

Status: Banner reports new developments in the relationship between host (heretofore referred to as Bruce) and alter (Hulk). Banner self-reports Bruce experiences new sensations (emotive and physical) that he believes suggest a Hulk duality/ co-piloting. All attempts at discussion of integration were met with resistance and denial of interest. When pressed on the matter, Banner became agitated. 

Meditation and breathing exercises prove effective in preventing switch between persons. Banner reports desire to extract Hulk, to understand Hulk’s nature with the ultimate goal of suppression and control. Banner reports desire to move forward with research into Bruce’s relationship with the alter (Hulk), enlisting the assistance of nonpartisan party. 

**⁂  
TONY**

During the drive home from Philly, Bruce's hand never leaves Tony’s thigh. Every once in a while there is a squeeze or the tick of Bruce’s fingertip catching the inseam of Tony’s pant leg. But always, there is the steady pressure and soothing heat of Bruce’s palm.

Tony doesn’t think he’s maintained a smile, even one that feels as secret and small as this, for so long in all of his life.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony

**⁂  
TONY**

Sunlight streams in through the windows of Tony’s penthouse in New York, warming his eyelids. The scent of Bruce lingers on his sheets. With a groan, a stretch, and a smile, Tony blinks himself awake.

Although he’s loathe to leave bedsheets that are still warm with the evidence of Bruce’s recent presence, Tony feels rejuvenated by the mere reminder that Bruce had spent the night. 

No snooze button today. The sooner he’s downstairs, the sooner he can have eyes on Bruce. That’s all he needs, really -- to see him. 

Although they spend their nights side by side, Tony’s arm slung over Bruce’s chest and his leg bent over Bruce’s hip, during the day they attend to their usual routines. Tony divides his time between his responsibilities as Stark Industries' majority shareholder and on projects commissioned by SHIELD. 

After two-and-a-half months in Malibu, there’s enough work in New York to keep both men busy and Tony’s head spinning. It doesn’t truly hit Tony that they’re home until he is stepping into the shower to the drone of JARVIS’s morning report. 

Tony reaches for his shampoo, tucked neatly behind Bruce’s and smiles at the implications. Without mention of the move, Bruce has brought up his own toiletries and left them in the master bathroom; he’s planning to shower here again. He’s planning to share Tony’s bed again. It sets Tony’s heart atwitter. 

As he lathers his hair, he remembers the nights he’s spent with Bruce. The first night at the conference, Bruce had held him while they lay in the hotel bed, and Tony had woken to room service and a drawn bath. 

Nights since returning to the Tower, Tony has spent with Bruce curled up in front of the penthouse fireplace. At Bruce’s request, Tony lies on the couch with his head in Bruce’s lap. The way Bruce's hand moves up and down Tony’s back, never fails to soothe him into a doze. When Tony’s speech slows and his eyelids are too heavy to hold open, Bruce nudges Tony up to the master bedroom. Then, tangled up in each other on Tony's California king, Bruce whispers wishes of sweet dreams before Tony drifts off. It’s a routine Tony can’t imagine living without.

Tony doesn’t think he’s ever slept so well. Sure, there are alarms every few hours, when Bruce sleeps and needs to wake again. But, it’s worth it. The alarms - or Bruce’s presence - seem to keep Tony’s nightmares at bay as well. 

With a wide yawn, followed by a fond smile, Tony rinses the shampoo and soap down the drain. He moves as lazily as he had when taking notes through yesterday's board meeting. Maybe the interrupted sleep is weighing on him a tiny bit, but Tony won’t trade his nights with Bruce for the world. 

He washes his face, runs his hands over the stubble under his jaw and down his throat, and Tony wishes the hands on his neck were Bruce’s instead of his own. 

Bruce has a thing for Tony's neck. And Bruce's thing stirs up reactions in Tony that Tony can't begin to understand. JARVIS even went so far as to voice his concern while Bruce tended to Tony's jugular veins last night. _Nosy bastard needs his parameters adjusted._ But one thing is clear; no one has ever affected Tony the way Bruce does.

Tony lets his arms and head hang slack under the hot water as he remembers. Bruce’s teeth had grazed his shoulders before Bruce drew patterns up Tony's neck with his tongue. Tony keens at the memory of Bruce’s lips pressed against the sensitive skin behind his ear. 

Tony takes himself in hand. Just long enough to bring himself torturously close to the edge. With his forehead pressed against the tile, mouth slack as he pants, Tony imagines Bruce stepping into the shower stall behind him. He imagines the heat of him lined up against his body; their legs slotted together, Bruce’s back bent over his, the firm line of his erection against Tony’s ass. 

Tony’s breath hitches as he squeezes some of Bruce’s shampoo into his palm. He slicks himself up again. One hand in a tight grip around the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm. The smell of Bruce fills the stall and Tony’s breath comes in stutters and gasps. He brings himself close again. And again. Until it’s too much. Everything with Bruce feels too much. 

Tony turns off the shower before releasing the hold on himself. He’s so close to orgasm, he’s afraid just the water raining down on his cock will be enough to set him off. 

Tony scrubs his hands over his face. They still hold the scent of Bruce’s shampoo. 

He decides to put off his need to shave. The prospect of reshaping his goatee inspires the same disinterest that influenced him into sending Pepper to voicemail when she called his personal line yesterday. He tells himself that there will be ample time to groom and to return her phone call later. It’s still so early and his first meeting isn’t until the late afternoon. Right now, he wants to spend time with Bruce -- and mornings, short as they may be, afford them an opportunity for peaceful domesticity before the chaos of each day begins.

Just as Tony is enjoying the idea of presenting Bruce with a honey chai ‘Good Morning’, Tony’s brain supplies a fact he had convinced himself should be overlooked. His chin falls to his chest and his eyes close. For all the cuddles and closeness Bruce has provided during the night, for all the attention Bruce has given his neck, Tony can't say he's ever tasted Bruce’s lips. They still haven’t had their first true kiss.

  
Stepping out of the shower, Tony hopes thoughts of the unrealized fantasy of Bruce’s lips against his own won’t follow, but they do. 

He scrubs a towel over his body until his skin is redder than the hot water had left it. Even so, disquiet ripples just beneath the surface. The more Tony thinks about his interactions with Bruce, the more he feels confused, hurt, and betrayed. And the more he thinks, the more he convinces himself things between him and Bruce are going to return to their pre-trip status quo. 

Of course they’ve been within arm's reach during their time in the lab; it’s a common area they share. Of course Bruce allows Tony to hold him at night, he had called Tony needy, hadn't he? And it was part of their negotiation. As Tony’s Dom, Bruce is required to provide the level of physical affection they’ve discussed. 

Now that Tony is thinking about it, he’s calculating, tallying up the affections Bruce has given him and weighing their value. Tony thinks that, if he tried, he can time the casual touches offered during the day, the more intimate moments they share in the evenings. They may seem casual and spontaneous to an outsider, but Tony wonders if Bruce has them on a schedule. It would make sense, Tony thinks. And it’s not like Bruce has revealed any desire to act upon his own arousal, ever.

Tony tries to wipe the suspicion from his mind with the scrub of the towel over his hair, but it’s no use. Tossing the towel aside, Tony looks up at the foggy mirror and can’t recognize himself.

He walks out of the ensuite with every intention of climbing back into bed. He tries to brush off the fact that, in his mind, there are distinct sides to it - his and Bruce’s. He tries to deny that it’s Bruce’s side of the bed upon which he’s planning to lie; Bruce’s pillow is where he wishes to rest his head.

But when he lifts his gaze from the floor, Tony's plans for bed are dashed. 

Seated at the end of the bed, Bruce announces, "We have company," without a morning hello.

Tony stands straighter, reaches for the dresser drawer beside him and pulls out his under armor clothes to ready himself for the Iron Man suit.

"No, not that kind of company,” Bruce amends before Tony trips over himself trying to pull on his briefs while still tangled in a towel. “We have company. Ms. Potts ratted out our return to Steve and Nat." 

At that, Tony’s shoulders tense and he feels like he’s moving through sand. He continues to dress, but chooses dark jeans and a Black Sabbath tee. 

Bruce pauses before asking, “Why is it that you looked more prepared to deal with a call to Assemble than you do to deal with our friends? You seem surprised that they found us.” Bruce manages to call Steve a friend without flinching. 

Tony fumbles with the button of his jeans to avoid eye contact. "When you say it like that it sounds like we were in hiding." 

“Weren’t we?”

Tony's stomach twists with the knowledge of Bruce’s ignorance and he turns to the closet to look for a belt. 

Bruce knows about SHIELD’s attempts to produce a gamma-based tranquilizer. Bruce _doesn’t_ know about the other weapons SHIELD is developing. He doesn’t know that they’ve tapped Tony and the others for help, for intel, for clues regarding how to subdue and defeat a gamma-infused monster. 

Tony needs to tell him. 

If not Tony, then upon whose shoulders will the responsibility fall? 

“Wait. Nat’s back?”

Bruce gives a short nod. One that doesn’t read of enthusiasm for their friend’s return.

"So they came for brunch?” Tony asks. “They better have brought bagels."

"Steve did,” Bruce says. “With the works."

"See?” Folding his arms over his chest, Tony leans against the armoire. “Why would I hide from that kind of service?"

Tony's heart hurts. He’s glad his arms are blocking his reactor because the ache in Tony’s chest and the drain on his energy feel like a trip in the reactor’s core. Malibu had seemed like the start of something good. And Philly… 

But the way Bruce is looking at him now- brow furrowed, mouth tight, eyes calculating - leaves Tony feeling unsure. And so tired. "Should we go down?" Coffee and breakfast would be good. Although, returning to bed would be better.  
  


"Probably. But I didn't want you to walk into an ambush." Bruce’s eyes are searching as they so often appear to be.

"Most of my life is an ambush," Tony says. 

Bruce is quiet a moment, still seated at the edge of the mattress and making no move to stand. "How are you feeling today?"

"Hmm? Hungry. All this talk of bagels-"

"I'm serious.”

Tony wonders how Bruce is asking. If he’s asking as a friend, as a co-worker, well, then he’ll get a generic answer because Tony understands that sometimes people ask and don’t really care. Sometimes people ask without wanting to handle all that a person is going through. But if Bruce is asking for the whole truth, then he should make it clear. He should ask Tony to kneel and repeat the question. 

As if reading Tony’s thoughts, Bruce says, “Anthony,” and the air feels like it’s been stolen from Tony’s lungs. “Talk to me.”

Tony walks to the foot of the bed and lowers himself to his knees. "If this is what you want to know, this is how I want to answer."

Tony’s not been on the floor for a second when Bruce combs his fingers through Tony’s hair. "And this is how I want you,” Bruce responds. Never one to rush the quiet moments between them, Bruce pets Tony’s stubbled cheeks, first one and then the other. “You're beautiful," he whispers and Tony wants to believe him.

"Likewise."

Bruce sits up straighter and makes a little sound of surprise upon receiving such a return of sentiment. Then, not one to be thrown off, he asks again, "How are you?”

"Hungry,” Tony answers honestly.

"For bagels?”

Tony tips his head from side to side, then gives it a small shake ‘no’. He places his hands on Bruce's knees and thinks about the kiss he’s been craving since the first time Bruce saved his life. And, my god, is that when these feelings began? Has Tony been enamored with Bruce for all of this time?

Tony breathes. He rises up tall on his knees and, with his nails, draws circles on Bruce’s thighs. He wets his lips. “Not hungry for bagels.”

"Please, take this seriously." Bruce hasn’t lost one thread of control.

"I am."

Sighing, Bruce captures Tony’s wrists, holding them in place against his thighs. Tony's hands can't move higher, can’t tease further. In earnest, Bruce clarifies, "I need to know if you're ok. You seemed off yesterday and I need you to tell me if there is anything I can do to help. I know we agreed to give each other space to catch up with work. I’m just wondering if that’s-"

"What are you asking?” Tony makes a face. It’s been days since he let Bruce watch him push his pride aside, since he let Bruce see him debauched and humiliated on the hotel room floor and loving every second. And he’s fine. 

Tony huffs and sits back on his heels, but Bruce hasn’t released the hold on his wrists. “I'm good. I read about this stuff, remember? I drank juice. Ate my burger. Got my cuddles and went back to work. We're good."

"This _stuff_ isn’t something you read on a website and understand. It's not something you can predict, Tony. Everyone reacts differently-"

“I have work to do. And meetings to attend. And, apparently, company to entertain. We don’t have time for this right now.” But Tony wishes they did. Wishes they had time for this, wishes Bruce showed interest in all of it, during the light of day. Not only when he thinks Tony can’t handle it. 

_Is that why Bruce holds back? Does he think I can’t handle him?_

Bruce takes a slow breath as he holds Tony’s wrists in a firm grip. “You’re the one who went to your knees, Tony. Maybe we should stay to talk about-”

“I’m done talking about this. I’d like to get up now.” Tony gives his wrists a light tug, expecting resistance -- yearning for Bruce to hold him in place, desperate for a demonstration of Bruce’s commitment to their arrangement. 

Tony’s heart twists and falls when his hands slip through Bruce’s suddenly lax fingers. 

Bruce’s voice drops low. “I’ll be downstairs.” With a last touch to the crown of Tony’s head, Bruce stands and walks out of the bedroom.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony

**⁂  
TONY**

Tony makes it halfway down the spiral staircase before the sound of Steve’s belly laugh pulls him up short. It’s definitely one of Steve’s ‘head thrown back, one foot off the floor, double pec grab’ kind of laughs. There should be no place for that laugh in the Tower. Not after all Steve has done, not after the things he has suggested, the secrets he’s given away.

Tony catches his tongue between his teeth as he strains to catch the conversation. But when he hears Bruce regaling them with his account of Tony’s attempt at preparing meatloaf the night before, as if things among the team are as normal as ever, Tony flushes with anger and reels with confusion. It takes a minute for his cheeks to cool, then he forces himself to finish his descent of the stairs.

There’s an empty space next to Bruce on the sofa in the living room, but Tony stands beside Natasha and Steve in the wingback chairs instead. He doesn’t bother meeting Bruce’s gaze. There’s still too much to process, and with the unexpected company, there’s no privacy with which to do so.

“This is a surprise,” Tony says of the visit. He nods to Steve and Natasha sitting beside him and scans the room for Barton and Thor. He avoids looking too long at Bruce who waits expectantly on the aforementioned couch. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

"Ms. Potts told us you’d returned to New York and we wanted to drop by,” Steve explains. “We had a sneaking suspicion you might try to run off before we got a chance to catch up."

Tony sneers at the accusation, but his attitude is out of place with the cordial atmosphere of the room. 

Bruce sits forward on the couch cushions -- not that Tony is paying close attention to his movements or anything. "When should we expect Thor and Clint to arrive?"

At Bruce's inquiry, Tony makes a show of glancing around the room. "Where is that featherhead anyway?" He thinks his relief at Barton's absence is palpable; Natasha can probably feel it in the air. It's probably the best case scenario that Steve showed up at the same time as one of Bruce’s allies. If Tony’s being honest with himself, he can only handle one traitor at a time. 

"Thor took him to Asgard," Natasha says with a shrug. "Meet the parents or something."

"Oh,” Bruce shifts in his seat, “are they-"

"Pfft. God no,” she brushes her hand through the air as if shooing the idea from the room. “Like we need those two shacking up. I can't even imagine that much diva in one relationship."

“Can you think of how damaging that would be?” Steve says with a pointed look at Tony. “It goes without saying that a pair of us engaging in a romantic relationship with each other is completely unprofessional. All of the problems that would cause among the team. Increased concerns. Favoritism. Quarreling and breakups.”

Tony can’t meet Steve’s eyes. He wants to look at Bruce, but he can’t even bring himself to do that. 

_What if Bruce is nodding along to everything Steve is saying? What if Bruce has been thinking that way all this time? What if Bruce thinks Tony’s an idiot for considering they could be anything more than warm bodies keeping each other company at night?_

Pepper is next to show her face and Tony guesses he should have expected her and the look she’s sending his way. She’s not quite glaring, but the smile she wears certainly doesn’t say ‘happy to see you, old friend’. 

Tony wants to shrink into Bruce’s side, but he has been so busy proving to himself that he doesn’t need to be attached to Bruce’s hip that he’s still on the opposite side of the living room. And with Steve’s eyes on him and his disapproval hanging in the air, Tony won’t seek Bruce out now. 

Tony isn’t the one who will be sitting beside Bruce on the loveseat this morning. No, Pepper takes that spot without hesitation. 

She turns to Bruce like she’s going to say something to him. Maybe remark on the weather, maybe ask him if Casu marzu is worth the hype. Whatever it is, the quiet pause between them doesn’t sit well with Tony. He watches from behind Natasha’s chair too long for his discomfort to remain inconspicuous. 

“So, uh, Steve,” Tony says, turning his head toward the man and begging his traitorous eyes to follow. He can’t seem to peel them away from where Pepper and Bruce have crossed their legs toward each other and started up a private conversation. 

Tony squints at Pepper’s mouth; sometimes he’s able to read her lips through the glass of conference room walls. Maybe he can glean something of their topic of conversation. Just having a clue would help him feel like the rug isn’t being pulled out from under him.

Pepper has warned Tony against getting involved with Bruce. And suddenly, after their first week together, really together, she shows up with Avengers-style distractions in tow. _She knows._ She knows something between Tony and Bruce has changed. Pepper knows Tony stopped listening to her ‘warnings’.

Bruce is shaking his head. It’s a small movement, but the implied ‘no’ hits Tony like a rush. His heart feels like it’s been knocked out of his chest by the blow. Tony brings his palm to his reactor and presses hard as if to prove it’s still in place. 

“Uh, Tony?” A faraway voice threatens to interrupt his thoughts.

Tony should have answered the stupid phone when Pepper called. Tony should have taken the damn seat next to Bruce when he came down the stairs. Tony should have kept Pepper away from Bruce. 

“Stark.” The voice says more forcefully. 

And then there’s an itchy, featherlight touch on Tony’s wrist, distinctively _not Bruce_. Tony jerks his hand away and looks down to see a pair of big, blue eyes blinking up at him like a concerned puppy. 

“You OK?” The question is private and sincere. _Fuck_. Tony’s pretty sure the question is meant to be answered in _layers_ and all Tony can think is that this golden-retriever-man is _not Bruce_.

“Nat,” Golden Boy whispers as he peeks around Tony. 

“I got him,” comes a sharp response from behind. “Tony. I need new Widow’s Bites. Can you help me design some?”

Tony snaps his head toward Natasha and turns on his heel at the request. “No,” he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “No, I will not, because I just drew up three designs for new Widow tech and you haven’t given notes on any of them yet. Don’t waste my time, Romanoff. It’s precious.”

“Oh.” Even as Natasha looks up at Tony from her place in the wingback chair, she commands an air that’s perfectly intimidating, unimpressed, and unflappable. “I must not have gotten the memo.”

“The mem-?” Tony pulls a face. “Listen here, sister. I don’t send out memos.”

“Right. So, how would I know that you drew up these designs? For weeks you’ve been all ‘surf and sun and tons of fun’.” Natasha’s voice drops only a fraction to show she means this more out of concern than accusation. “If it weren’t for Bruce’s calls and Pepper’s updates, how would we know you were OK?”

_We?_ Tony really wants to know exactly who is included in that ‘we’ because Steve got daily check-ins just the same as Pep, and he’s pretty sure SHIELD can drop a pin on him no matter how hard he tries to hide. But it doesn’t sound like Natasha is asking at the behest of Hill, Couslon, or Fury.

“I’ll send you the specs on your bracelets tonight.” Tony hopes he didn’t draw suspicion by spending too much time in thought. The last thing he needs is a Widow-level interrogation.

Natasha shrugs. “Why don’t we look at them now?” Her smile is almost a challenge, like she wants him to prove that he really spent his time in Malibu drawing out designs.

“Well, because…” Tony’s thoughts drift as his eyes do - toward Bruce and Pepper, still deep in their conversation by the fireplace. “Sure. We can… sure.” Tony waves his hand toward Steve in an invitation for him to tag along. “I suppose you’d like to see some ideas I have for your new shield, as well.”

For all the surprise and excitement in Steve’s wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression, he may as well start wagging his tail-end. It’s like the old days; Tony tries not to think about how much he misses them. If he thinks about it too long, he’ll forget what Steve’s done. 

“Although I fully expect you to drool over these blueprints,” Tony deadpans, “I will have you neutered if your saliva gets on my desk.”

As Tony takes a last look at Bruce and Pepper, the shift in Steve’s energy from exhilarated to unamused barely registers on Tony’s radar. 

**⁂**

While in the workshop with Steve and Nat, Tony feels a tug at something in his core. When so much is pulling at his attention, it’s hard to pinpoint the cause.

Steve has more questions than Tony thinks is possible regarding the necessity of having a shield that can expand and contract. Tony had thought Steve would like a shield with an option for a little stealth. 

“We can scrap the design, if you hate it.”

Steve jabs his index finger at the blueprint with a frown. Tony sighs, but at least the pokes and prods speak to Steve’s progress in assimilating to the 21st century. Only a few months ago, Steve would have tried to hold the hologram. 

“But, Tony, when you said ‘new shield’-” Steve sounds like he’s pouting; Tony doesn’t lift his gaze to check. “-I thought you had put fireworks in it, or something.” 

Tony starts and stops before saying something too rude to take back. 

After a long blink and a deep breath, Tony tries again. “Captain Rogers, would you like to shoot fireworks out of your shield?”

“Well, I was thinking they could work as a distraction. I throw my shield and it sparks along the edges.”

“Have you been watching a lot of cartoons while I was away?” Tony makes the mistake of looking up into the full force of Steve Rogers’s scowl.

“What about mini missiles?” The supersoldier suggests. It would be an innocent enough request if not for Steve’s posturing.

“Nat!” Tony says as he backs away from Cap’s ridiculous request. Although he’s proven himself a brilliant strategist, Steve really comes up with some ‘winners’ when he’s out of the field too long. “Nat, please, tell me you like what I’ve got for you.”

Natasha has taken to her review of the blueprints for her newest prototypes with grave interest.

Tony leans on the table with her, brimming with pride. Propped on his elbows, he reads over her notes and nods along. 

He had a feeling she’d enjoy the ‘Widow’s Line’ grappling hook/garrote, but the intensity with which she studies the ‘Widow’s Kiss’ is almost frightening. Of course, the formula for the new knock-out gas is Bruce’s concoction. He worked on it, almost exclusively, for the last four days in Malibu. Tony can claim a patent on the new Widow’s Bite bracelets complete with compartments for all her new toys, but he’ll have to tell Bruce just how well his poison has gone over with their resident assassin.

“I’ll want this in the aerosol, as you’ve designed,” she says of the ‘Widow’s Kiss’. “This balm is…”

“Yeah. You can smear it on the mucous membranes of the target - nose, eyes, mouth. You won’t always be in a position to escape a gas so...” 

“It’s perfect. I want it in a lethal dose and a sedative.”

Tony types up a note for Bruce. “You got it.”

Steve joins them around the table. “How come Agent Romanoff gets a pat on the back when I get ridicule and an eye roll?” 

“I never said you weren’t getting those missiles, Cap. I just didn’t agree to sticking them on your shield.” But Tony considers his options.

It’s almost endearing, the way Steve draws himself up. “Oh.” But his smile starts tipping the scale toward cocky and the boyish charm is gone.

**⁂**

The smell of spiced meat and tahini draws an audible rumble from Tony’s stomach and now the empty pit in his center makes sense. He waves toward the door without taking his eyes off of Fury’s newest proposal. With each new request Fury makes, Tony’s unease grows. Any weapon aimed at the Abomination-Loki team, turns Tony’s thoughts to Bruce, to Hulk.

Anything capable of taking down Abomination has the potential to cause their resident gamma giant real harm, and that’s something Tony can’t be a part of. 

Bruce’s presence in the workshop is more than welcome. Just being around him helps to ease Tony’s racing mind, helps to focus his thoughts. The way Tony can fall into step behind Bruce’s commands. The way Bruce’s breath comes heavily at Tony’s little insubordinations. The way the heat rises behind Bruce’s eyes when Tony follows directions to a ‘t’. It all brings Tony to his center, even when his center feels like it’s coiling in desire.

“That smells incredible,” Tony admits, blindly reaching out to pull his visitor in for an embrace. The quiet giggle that accompanies the delicate fingers interlacing his gives Tony pause. 

“I take it I’m not who you were expecting.” Pepper’s gentle voice lifts at the end like a question.

“Oh, uh, of course you are. I’ve missed my best girl.”

“Mhmm.” The soft tone she used just a second ago starts to show its edge. “Steve’s right, you know.”

Pepper gives Tony’s hand a squeeze as she sets the plate of shawarma beside his work. “I’m not here to lecture you. Bruce seems to know what he’s getting into - better than I did.”

Tony swallows hard. “You gave him a shovel talk?”

“Of course!”

“And he told you… what, exactly?”

Pepper runs her hands across Tony’s shoulders and down his back as if smoothing wrinkles from his shirt. “He and I agreed that your relationship with him is private. But every contract needs a witness signature.”

Tony turns abruptly; he can feel the color draining from his face. “Oh my god.”

“Tony, I already knew. I knew I couldn’t provide that for you. Not how you wanted. I knew none of your previous partners could. I didn’t think, on top of everything else Bruce already has to contend with, he could take on a relationship like this. But…” Pepper smiles supportively and shrugs. 

“It’s only been a few days.” Tony wants to confide in her. He wants to ask her how she can support them if she thinks Steve is right about the trouble his and Bruce’s relationship could cause the Avengers. He thinks maybe Bruce told her more than he’s told Tony. Maybe Bruce explained it’s all fun and games. Maybe Bruce assured her they’re just friends sharing a few thrills.

Pepper’s smile shifts into an expression of skepticism. “This thing between the two of you has been going on a lot longer than that.” 

There’s not much Tony can say to deny it. He’s been harboring amorous feelings for Bruce for months. And his hope is that the same rings true for Bruce toward him. “So, no lecture?”

“You’re a big boy, Tony. You have to make these decisions on your own. But that’s not all I came here to talk about.”

Tony leans back on his workbench, trusting his instincts that he can relax. “What’s going on?” He eyes the plate of shawarma that’s been calling out to him since its arrival.

“Bruce wants to hire an assistant.” Pepper pauses like she thinks Tony will respond unfavorably to the news. “Someone to work with him on the Stark International R&D side of things. He doesn’t want SHIELD involved in their discoveries.”

The promise of food is far more interesting than some nerd Bruce wants down in R&D. He drags the plate closer by inches. “Yeah, he mentioned that... who’d he pick?” 

Despite Tony’s indifference, Pepper tiptoes toward the subject. “He said you met her this weekend.”

Tony remembers a woman -- the only person Bruce seemed to tolerate. “Melinda, right?” He doesn’t feign ignorance; she was the only one who didn’t flinch when he reached out to shake hands. “Dr. Lucy-somethin’.”

“Dr. Melinda Leucenstern. That’s the one.” 

Tony shrugs with a small “hmph” and finally gets his hands around the pita sandwich for a bite. It’s quite possibly the best thing he’s ever eaten; it’s certainly the first thing he’s eaten all day. He’s probably moaning obscenely as he chews, but he can’t hear anything above his inner monologue of ‘yes, mmm, mother of god, that’s good’.

It takes four mouthfuls of the meal before Tony is able to think clearly. When clarity settles, he remembers he has a request for hire, as well. 

“I want Paul Ebersol,” he says, filling his cheeks like a chipmunk in order to get out the words. “Same deal as Lucenstern. Fuck, SHIELD.” 

With a heaving sigh, Pepper pulls her tablet clipboard out from under her arm. But before typing anything into her To Do list, she levels Tony with a look. “Promise me this isn’t a pissing contest, Tony.”

“It’s not!” Tony insists. “Cross my heart.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce  
> Tony

**⁂  
BRUCE**

“Things with Tony will get complicated,” Pepper says. “If they haven’t already.”

Bruce offers her a careful smile. “I thrive on complicated.”

Pepper’s smile in return is more warning than approval. It rings of Steve’s fears regarding the potential for discord in relationships within the Avengers team and it sits heavily in Bruce’s stomach. 

“Clint and Natasha have been working together for years as SHIELD agents.”

“Absolutely. They’re like family,” Pepper agrees.

“They’ve never let their love for each other come before the safety of the team or the importance of the mission at hand,” Bruce reminds her.

“Perhaps not, but something happened before your trip to Malibu. I’m not saying I want to know the details. But something tells me Captain Rogers believes Tony’s decision-making was compromised by his feelings for you. And if that’s true, then Tony’s putting his own safety at risk - as well as the rest of the team. I don’t have to tell you what it means if the Avengers can’t do their job. Is it true that he’s refusing requests made by the directors at SHIELD?”

For all of Pepper’s criticisms, concern shines through. “Billions of people depend on-”

“I get it. You’re getting yourself worked up over nothing anyway. What’s going on between me and Tony isn’t going to affect our work as Avengers. Besides, haven’t you heard? I don’t go out in the field anymore.”

Bruce hadn’t considered his feelings for Tony would be met with such resistance by the team. Even so, he had planned on keeping them under wraps for a while longer. At least until he and Tony had sorted out what they mean to each other. 

Thus far, Tony seemed to enjoy their nights together. Felt comfortable letting Bruce take care of him. He’s so pliant and willing at the end of the day. But when morning comes, Tony is a different animal - his mind returns to his work. He misses or ignores the cues Bruce gives him, little requests for submission, attention, and affection, no matter how obvious Bruce thinks he’s being. 

Bruce tells himself it’s fine, that they’ll come back to each other in the evening. But when he hears talk of SHIELD, sees the way Tony’s friends take offense to the idea of Tony being with him, Bruce can’t help but wonder if it would be better to put an end to it all. Tony is better off without this mess. He’s better off without the complications that come with Bruce, Hulk, and a relationship with a teammate. 

The Avengers look at Bruce and see someone unpredictable and volatile. Despite his careful control over his emotions and his improving understanding of this tenuous connection inside of him, his own teammates are afraid. 

Hulk has never hurt any of them. Yet, the people who had claimed to be his friends are setting plans into motion with SHIELD weapons that will certainly hurt him, when given the opportunity. Under the pretense of preparing for a fight against a common enemy, the Avengers are putting Hulk at risk. 

How can they be the ones casting judgment? How can they believe taking the shot at Hulk was truly an act in the best interest of the goliath and the team. Tony says Clint jumped the gun. Was Tony’s judgement compromised like Steve believes? 

Bruce has no problem with Clint using the serum if it was justified, but he can’t help but take note that once the serum was available it seems like it became the only option entertained. 

**⁂  
TONY**

JARVIS announces the presence of Tony’s next visitor and Tony isn’t sure if the topsy turvy feeling in his gut is happiness or frustration. Tony thinks he must be glad that he’s finally warranted a visit from Bruce. But he’s also disheartened at how long it has taken Bruce to come down to the workshop. 

Impatience hurries Tony’s feet along the path between tech and tables to the door, but annoyance wins out over excitement when he sees Bruce. Tony wishes he had the energy to greet him with more than a half-hearted grin. 

He leaves the door open and steps aside. Despite the unspoken invitation for Bruce to enter, he doesn’t. Tony is confused by the way Bruce stands there, unmoving; and he's unsure if he's allowed to pull him in for the closeness that he's been desperately wanting. 

“Come in.”

When Bruce finally stands beside him, without so much as grazing a hand over his hip, Tony is almost certain he has done something wrong.

“You’ve been down here all day, I was-”

"I had a lot of work to do,” Tony defends his absence. In truth, Tony thinks he could have been done with his projects hours ago if he could actually focus. It wasn't that he didn't want to do the work -- he did. Rather, he wanted the end result. He even knew what steps he needed to take to finish. He just... couldn't... 

“Hey.” 

Tony blinks and the room rushes into focus again. No, not the room. Bruce. He’s brought himself close. _When did he get so close?_

Bruce’s pinched expression reminds Tony of how he scans the desks for his glasses, but right now Bruce’s eyes are locked on him. 

Bruce’s irises are as dark as night. Tony wants to lean in, let the dark envelop him. He wants to stay in Bruce’s eyes and search for stars. 

“Is it too much?” Bruce asks and the magic of the moment is gone. 

Tony pulls back. “What?” With Bruce, nothing feels like it could ever be enough.

“I'm sorry.” Bruce takes a step back and Tony’s gaze is drawn to the way Bruce’s hands twist in front of him. It’s a display of unease Tony hasn’t seen in weeks. “I shouldn't have come into your space. Started asking questions.” 

“What?” Tony asks again, louder, more urgent, more confused. “You can come here anytime you want."

Bruce shakes his head, draws himself straighter, and looks toward the door. “This is your space, Tony.”

“I want you in my space.” It would only take a long stride for Tony to find safety in Bruce's arms. Although it feels like an unbridgeable divide, all Bruce would need to do is hold out his hand and Tony would find a way to cross it. “I thought you understood that.”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth quirks up yet gives Tony the impression of a frown more than a smile. “I’m in your space all of the time. Your lab, your home, your bedroom. You need somewhere that’s just yours.” Bruce scans the room this time. When his gaze returns to Tony, his smile is that of a man content. “The workshop has always been that space. Now we can put it in black and white.”

Tony lets it sink in. He crosses his arms in front of him and frowns. “Does that mean there are places that are just yours? Places where you don't want me?”

“We should talk about this another time.” 

“I want to talk about it now.” Tony doesn't want to talk about it ever. The idea of having this kind of wall between reminds him too much of their first days in California. 

“I'm hiring an assistant to work with me on a side project.” 

“Leucenstern.”

“Yes.” 

“You don't want me to, what, talk to her? Interfere with your research?” It starts to make sense, why Pepper expected a reaction to the news of Bruce bringing Dr. Leucenstern on board. 

“I don't want you in that lab.” Bruce's tone is gentle, but it does little to soften the blunt force of his words. “And I want to trust you- I want to trust that you won’t send JARVIS peeking in on me like Big Brother.” 

“What is it you are working on?” Tony has to ask.

“Something to keep everyone safe.” 

“What does that mean?” 

_This is how Bruce will rid the world of Hulk_ , Tony thinks. _Behind our backs. In secret. I will lose a friend and I won't get the chance to fight for him - or to say goodbye._

“I don't know yet,” Bruce answers. “Can I trust you?”

“Of course.” Tony leans back against the table. But unlike when he had been talking to Pepper, he feels far from relaxed. “Is that what you came for?” 

“No, I came to see if…" Bruce seems to change his mind and with it his tone. "I'm taking you to bed.” 

“Tuck me in?” Tony asks. It isn't until the question is out that he realizes he's speaking only half in jest. The other half of him is all anxiety.

There's no hint of sarcasm or teasing in Bruce's response. “Absolutely.” 

Tony’s arms drop and the tension he carries falls away. Bruce extends his hand behind him in blind reach as he walks toward the door. He hums contentedly when Tony’s fingers interlace with his.

**⁂**

Tony taps his pen on the contract. If he’s being honest with himself, he’ll admit the paperwork may as well be a Chinese take out menu for all he knows. After a fitful night’s sleep, he’s tired and his eyes can barely focus; or maybe he has simply lost patience for everything today. He checks the time. It’s only 11AM. 

“You really think we need all this?” Tony asks.

Pepper leans forward, her elbows on her desk, hands clasped, and all business. “Tony, you’re agreeing to let Bruce operate on a project without surveillance. You’re giving permission for him to access pieces of JARVIS’s code without your direct oversight. It says here he’ll have substantial funds to be used at his own discretion.”

Tony nods. “I trust him.” The contract says Tony promises that he won't check in on Bruce's work, but he, Bruce, and Pepper all know that he can’t really be locked out.

“You haven’t known him that long.”

Tony flips through the pages and sighs. He thought he’d be considering paragraphs of kinks and boundaries, but the pages in front of him bear no mention of the power exchange. “I’m offering hardly more access than what Bruce has with me present. He doesn't need me holding his hand."

"Tony-"

"I trust him. If he breaches that trust we can-”

“He’s the Hulk.”

Tony takes a staggering breath as a vision flashes behind his eyes. Tony sees Hawkeye’s arrow as it pierces Hulk’s chest. How quick and effective the tranquilizer - the _poison_ \- is. Tony imagines the floor quaking beneath him at the memory of Hulk falling to the ground. Tony thinks of the sample in the hands of SHIELD and the implications of their attempts at creating their own versions of Bruce’s compound.

“There are ways to subdue even a Hulk,” he admits out loud. “Can we do this later?” His heart feels like it’s breaking. It’s enough to spark concern from JARVIS. Of all the things the AI can understand, the complexity of romantic feelings isn’t one of them. 

“I think we need to do this now, Tony.”

Tony closes his eyes. Right now he wants a friend not a CEO. But instead of seeking out the Pepper he needs, he pushes away the Pepper he sees. “I don’t _care_ what you think.”

“Excuse me?”

“You and Bruce and the others… everyone has all of these _opinions_ about what I should be doing and when we should be talking and everything is now or later but never when I say. No, _I_ decide when.” Tony thinks, _That’s what should be in the contract. Bruce says jump, but I get to decide whether I’m willing. And right now the only thing I want to do is kneel between his thighs under his watchful gaze. Or sit at Bruce’s feet half-ignored while he crochets, reads, or writes_. Tony surprises himself. Why should he want to submit when it's Bruce who should be apologizing to him - for wanting space, for being distant? 

Afterall, it’s Bruce who schedules their affection -- isn’t Tony worth more than the attention he receives behind closed doors, away from prying eyes? Bruce is the one who’s placed unspoken limits on their intimacy -- Maybe Bruce doesn’t want sex, but when was it decided that Bruce would deny Tony the simple request of a kiss?

Tony pushes himself from the table, face warm and legs shaking.

“Tony…” 

“Just stop, OK?”

The threat of tears burns his nose and stings his eyes. He can’t be in the office a second longer.

**⁂**

Bruce finds Tony in the bedroom, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed with his head in his hands.

“You had it out with Pepper,” he says. 

Tony pulls his knees to his chest and presses his face into his folded arms. 

“I’m going to sit next to you. You don’t have to say anything, but I’m here if you need me.”

“Of course I need you,” Tony mumbles. _But I wake up and you’re not there. And maybe that’s unfair; but you know that I want you there and still you go._

“What was that?”

Tony lifts his chin to rest it upon his arms. “You said I’m needy.” Bruce’s hand is warm against the small of Tony’s back. Tony wants to resist the comfort, wants to prove he can pull himself together on his own. But Bruce’s solid presence is inviting and Tony’s been feeling so cold. “In Philly,” he clarifies, “you said you would enjoy how needy I am.”

"Needy?” Bruce’s hand slides to Tony’s hip and pulls him closer - plants a kiss to his temple. The temple kiss brings that count up to a baker’s dozen since the first, but what Tony considers a _real_ kiss remains zero. 

Tony turns, licks his lips in an attempt to draw Bruce’s attention. Instead, Bruce stares into his eyes. “Tony, do you know what it feels like to be needed by you? You're a man who wants for nothing in this world-"

"I want you." _And to know that you want me back._

"You can have anyone. And you choose me…" But, finally, Bruce understands well enough to conclude, “I've offended you.”

“You took advantage.”

Bruce pulls away as his eyes go wide. He shifts on the floor so there are inches between them. It’s a distance that Tony needs and doesn’t want all the same. 

“What do you mean?” Bruce asks. The sincerity and concern of his words drag his voice low and slow.

“When we were in the hotel; when we were, you know, you asked me what I wanted. But you didn’t…”

“What did you want, Tony? What did I overlook?”

“A kiss.”

Bruce blinks.

“You asked and I told you, I wanted a kiss.” Tony drops his eyes to Bruce’s hands as they pass over each other in unrest and, perhaps, an attempt to comfort himself. “You didn't give it to me. You still haven’t." 

Bruce gives a short shake of his head as if in disbelief. “Tony, I kiss you all the time." 

Tony continues, "I said, 'Bruce, please' and you watched me in that hotel room and you teased and you never kissed me.” Tony meets Bruce’s eyes and forces his voice to hold steady. “Bruce, you never _kiss_ me. Not really." 

“Oh.” Bruce’s fidgeting stills; he releases a breath. He holds out a hand, palm up and his fingers twitch in invitation. When Tony’s hand alights to his, he whispers, "You're right." 

“Usually.”

Bruce gives Tony’s hand a squeeze and Tony knows he isn’t going to like whatever Bruce will say next. But Bruce doesn’t say anything.

“Did you even like what we did?" Tony presses on, needing to know even if the answers are devastating. "Did that do anything for you? Do you think I'm a pervert or something?" 

Bruce scoots closer and takes Tony’s other hand. “Why would you ever think that? 

Tony reminds him, “You didn't get off.” 

“That night was about you. And you were the most beautiful, most alluring creature I’d ever seen.” 

“But you don’t…”

Bruce releases a measured breath and lets go of Tony’s hand in favor of caressing his cheek. “No.”

“Is it a control thing? Part of the power exchange? Keeping Hulk in check? I don’t understand.” 

Bruce tells him, “Maybe.” Bruce admits that he's not sure. Bruce confesses that he's scared to completely let go. 

It’s Tony’s turn to take Bruce’s face in his hands. Although he wants to crawl into his lap and bury his face into his shoulder, Tony knows it’s more important for Bruce to see the truth in his eyes when he says, “Hulk has only ever looked out for me. Hulk has never hurt me.” Tony smooths his thumbs over Bruce’s cheekbones and places a light kiss on his forehead. “He would never.”

“You don’t know that.”

Tony sighs and his voice drops to a whisper. “I really do.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets his kiss

**⁂  
TONY**

“I had Pepper reschedule the rest of today’s meetings. Tomorrow’s, too.”

Tony looks up from his work station and turns around to face Bruce where he stands at his own desk. "You didn’t need to do that. Pep already covered for me yesterday." 

“You need time, Tony.” Bruce’s hand dips into his top drawer, stirring up the crinkle of individually wrapped peppermint candies. “I misread you. I thought I was respecting your boundaries by letting you work it out on your own. But-”

“But I snapped at my best friend, the CEO of Stark Industries. So, who knows how I’ll react at Board meetings,” Tony guesses. “Am I close?”

“Something like that.” Bruce closes the drawer with his fist in what is a familiar gesture, but the movement is markedly slow this time, deliberate. It attracts Tony’s attention.

"What’s the plan?" Tony asks, his focus split between Bruce’s hands and mouth. 

The candy passes from Bruce’s left hand to his right and back to his left as he answers. “I want to spend time with you.” 

“That’s all?”

“And I need you to help me with something.” Bruce takes slow steps forward until he’s crowding Tony against his desk and Tony lets him. Even though he could hoist himself onto the desk to give them a few inches apart, Tony stands his ground. He’d rather be here. 

“It’s a deceptively difficult assignment,” Bruce goes on. “I know you’ll be perfect for it.”

“I will?” Tony had meant to exude confidence bordering on arrogance, but Bruce’s body is pressed against his and Tony is already excited by the thought of being put to Bruce’s new task.

“Hold this.” Bruce holds up a single peppermint candy between his thumb and forefinger. 

Tony gives Bruce a look. He’s carried trays, tea, protective eyewear, notebooks, and, yes, even a beaker frothing with only-Bruce-knows-what; so, of course, why wouldn’t Bruce relegate him to the services of candy dish? 

  
Tony tucks one arm behind his back and his eyes drop to the desk. Bruce will place the candy down for Tony to pick up on his own. He always respects Tony’s hang up about being handed things. 

The corner of Bruce’s mouth lifts in a hint of amusement before he says. “Open your mouth.”

Tony lifts his gaze. “I prefer caramels.”

Bruce chuckles. “This is very much about what I prefer, right now.”

“I thought you were spending time with me to atone for being cold and distant.”

“Cold?” Bruce takes a breath. “I’m… I’m doing that, too. But I’m with you because I want to be. You know that, don’t you? How much I want to be with you?” 

He pets Tony’s head with languid strokes then cradles the back of his neck. “Now, open your mouth, darling. Hold this on your tongue for me.”

Tony’s brain short circuits as it does whenever Bruce uses any term of endearment. He must hesitate too long because the next thing he feels is Bruce’s knee nudging his legs, laying soft pressure between his thighs. 

Tony’s lips part with his gasp, eliciting a little sound of approval from Bruce. As Bruce takes a step back, however, Tony thinks maybe he should have kept better control of himself, if only to keep Bruce near for awhile longer.

As Tony sighs in his dismay, Bruce pushes the candy past his lips. “On your tongue,” he reminds Tony. He hooks a finger over Tony’s bottom teeth to indicate just how wide he would like Tony’s jaw to remain. “Like this so that I can see.”

The refreshing tingle of peppermint doesn’t come immediately; it tastes more like a piece of plastic. The candy doesn’t even melt much. But the urge to swallow does come eventually, Tony’s salivation triggering the need.

“When we talked about Aftercare and Drop, you told me you wanted to be left alone," Bruce says. "That didn’t work out too well for us, did it?”

“Unh-uh,” Tony vocalizes at the back of his throat. His tongue and the candy don’t move. 

Bruce kisses his neck. 

Tony’s eyes flutter closed before he forces them open. He doesn’t want to miss this. He doesn’t want to slip into fantasy or float away. He wants to stay grounded in this. 

“Be a good boy for me, Tony. Don’t let my candy fall.” 

_Don’t let it fall_ , Tony thinks to himself. _Be good._ These are things he can do. Bruce never lets him fall; holding candy is a simpler task than what Bruce does for Tony every day. 

Tony focuses on the weight of the peppermint as it grows heavier on his tongue. The tension in his jaw, neck, and shoulders demand his attention. He reminds himself to relax, and appreciates every pass of Bruce’s hands over the tight muscles of his arms and lower back that reminds him to release the tension building there as well. 

Bruce’s mouth moves down Tony’s neck with light, dry pecks but leaves searing kisses at the hollow of his throat. 

Tony tips his head back to hold in the spit pooling under his tongue. He does his best to swallow.

“If you need to stop, just tap your thigh, OK?”

“Yeah.” Tony gives a little thumbs up behind his back, but he’s not sure Bruce can see.

Bruce licks at Tony’s lip, where it’s wet and sticky with the candy. “You have no idea how much time I’ve lost,” Bruce whispers against Tony’s lips, “thinking about your mouth.” The sweet kisses he peppers under Tony’s jawline send sparks down Tony’s spine, but it’s Bruce’s words that raise goosebumps over his skin. 

Tony responds with a shiver and a hitched breath as Bruce’s tongue laves at the small hollow behind his ear.

It’s a struggle to swallow, a struggle to breathe, a struggle to stand still when all he wants is to pull Bruce against his body again and make him feel the desire he surely knows is torture.

“Thank you for saving this for me.” Bruce nuzzles Tony’s neck as he speaks, then licks at his chin again. He teases Tony’s bottom lip before he says, “I’ll take it from here.” 

The firm hands on the sides of Tony’s face guide him toward the offer of Bruce’s kiss.

Their lips meet and Tony freezes. It's nothing like what he'd imagined and everything that he would have dreamed if he knew a feeling like this existed. The hand Tony keeps clasped around his wrist tightens its grip and it's all Tony can do to keep himself from grabbing Bruce for more.

Bruce deepens the kiss without Tony having to take it for himself.

The candy passes between them, exchanged by their tongues. Bruce must tuck the peppermint away in his cheek or swallow it whole because, although the mint’s flavor lingers through the kiss, Tony can’t feel the hard candy anymore. 

Tony gets lost in the warm undulations of Bruce’s lips against his. 

Bruce pulls Tony in closer, slides his hands from Tony’s neck, down his arms, to where he releases Tony’s hold on his wrist. Tony floats again, just for a second, before the drag of Bruce’s nails over his skin brings him back. 

Never breaking their rolling rhythm, Bruce encourages Tony’s arms to fold around his waist. And Tony seizes the opportunity to hold on. 

It’s Tony who needs to come up for air first. His chest aches more than he can remember; his toes and fingertips tingle like they’d fallen asleep then come alive for the first time in ages. Tony wants to touch every inch of Bruce and make sure that he’s real.

“Here we are, love,” Bruce says as Tony ducks his face into the crook of his neck. 

Tony isn’t sure when his first tear fell. He clings to Bruce as tightly as he can. It’s an odd feeling, knowing he is gripping Bruce’s shirt in his fists and having hands that have gone completely numb. 

If this is what it’s like to be _called_ ‘love’ by Bruce, to be _kissed_ by Bruce, Tony can’t imagine what it will be like to _make love_. 

The last of Tony’s silent tears fall as Bruce strokes the nape of his neck and asks, “Color?”

Tony flattens the palms of his hands over Bruce’s back and hugs him closer. “Green,” Tony says and he thinks of the money his family has spent on bodyguards and security systems. Tony couldn’t pay for the feeling of safety granted by the warmth of Bruce's embrace. 

Sensation returns to Tony's hands while Bruce drops chaste kisses to his lips. Tony doesn’t bother keeping track of how many he receives, he’s optimistic that soon their kisses will be too numerous to count.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve!  
> Natasha!  
> Melinda!  
> Bruce!

**⁂  
STEVE**

Steve trades his Stark Pad for his sketchbook and lets his messenger bag fall to the floor at his feet. Bruce will show up in the lounge eventually, and Steve thinks it’ll be best for him to appear as non confrontational as possible before he shares the news that’s just come down from SHIELD: _Loki and Abomination have come out of hiding._

The entirety of HQ is on edge. They don’t know when the pair will surface again or where they’ll strike. With Tony’s refusal to build weapons against gamma-irradiated monsters and R&D’s failure to synthesize Dr. Banner’s serum, the odds feel stacked against the Avengers. Their best bet at taking down the villainous pair is to ask Dr. Banner to help them - to join them - in whatever capacity he’s willing.

“Captain Rogers?” Bruce enters with a pen tucked behind his ear and a hardcover journal in his hand. "Oh."

The cold-shoulder non-greeting probably shouldn't come as a surprise, all things considered. But it still smarts. 

Steve looks up from his page of hash marks and small doodles. "Hi." 

Bruce's chews his lip during the awkward pause. Steve keeps his eyes on Bruce as the man moves around the room to the couch. “Can I… help you?”

“I really hope so.”

Bruce’s expression turns hard and Steve wishes there was a different way to approach him, but what’s the sense in beating around the bush. It’s not like hemming and hawing would inspire confidence or trust between them. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Steve says truthfully. So, it’s not the whole truth, but it’s a start. 

“And what? You want me to make you a cup of warm milk, tell you a bedtime story, sing you a lullaby?”

“I thought I would sit a while. Maybe we could talk.”

“You sure that’s a good idea? What if I get angry.”

“I thought you’re always angry.”

Bruce’s hum of agreement is so close to a growl Steve swallows hard. “I am. So why don’t you tell me what’s keeping you up at night and I can send you back to bed.” 

“They’re back.”

Bruce breathes heavily through his nose; Steve knows he won’t be asking for clarification. Steve knows Bruce is fully capable of drawing the correct conclusion.

“You’ve been up against Blonsky before. It’d be foolish of us not to enlist your expertise before taking him on as a team.”

“I think you’ll find my consultation fee is out of your price range.”

“I didn’t mean as a consultant, Dr. Banner. I think it’d be better for the team if you fought alongside us. If _Hulk_ fought with us.” Steve hopes this will be enough to draw the team together. With a common purpose, going up against one of Hulk’s greatest enemies, having the team rally for Hulk against this villain - it should be enough to convince Bruce they are apologetic for their actions. That they are willing to give Hulk a chance.

“You only want me around to use me for your own gains. You only want Hulk when it’s convenient.”

“Dr. Banner.”

“You went to Ms. Potts regarding your concerns about mine and Tony’s friendship. You didn’t come to me.”

“Is that all you are? Friends?” 

“You don’t trust me. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I’m asking.”

“Tell me, Captain Rogers, is it just Tony you think I shouldn’t pursue romantically, or is it everyone? Do you consider me incapable of deep emotional ties, or just unworthy? Are friendships too much to ask for? Because it feels like I’ve been deluding myself into thinking the Avengers could ever think of me as more than an asset. I don’t think you and I have ever been friends.”

Steve keeps his hold on his notebook loose, determined not to let his intimidation show. “We don’t need to be friends to stand side by side, to fight on the same team.”

“Maybe not. But SHIELD is actively seeking developments to injure beasts like Hulk.”

Steve sees something like fear shining through Bruce’s shuttered expression. “We all go to war armed with weapons that can take us down. One day Hulk will be no different.” There’s nothing more he can say tonight. If Bruce won’t help, if Hulk won’t join the Avengers when they’re called to assemble, then Steve needs to strategize new plans.

“It was supposed to be a last line of defense,” Bruce says and it stops Steve in his tracks. “Tony says there was damage to the building, but that Hulk had stopped. That he was confused, but he wasn’t violent against anyone.”

“It was the Fourth of July, Bruce. There were people everywhere. My attention was being pulled in a dozen directions. Then I get a call from Fury and Barton: _Hulk’s storming through the Tower._ I couldn’t get there; I didn’t think I would get to Hulk in time. Barton said you wanted us to use the arrows especially to prevent Hulk from doing something you would regret. There were children on the lower balconies, in the streets… Hulk didn’t hurt anyone, but he could have.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as if willing a memory to the surface.

“None of us want to believe Hulk would hurt civilians, Dr. Banner. Not after the lengths you've taken to get him under control. Not after the steps he's taken to prove himself a part of this team. The decision to act wasn't one made lightly.”

_And neither was the decision to devise non-lethal means to subdue him and others like him._

Steve goes on. “You would have made the same choice. And if you hadn't run off with Stark, maybe we could have used these past months with Hulk in the training room. We could have gotten a sense of where his head is, asked him what was going on that day, tested Barton's theories about the lingering effects of the tesseract.”

“I don’t remember those options being presented to me then.”

“You didn’t give me a chance… and now?”

“I wouldn’t want to put you all at risk again. Playing favorites, right? Choosing Tony over the rest of you, isn’t that what you think?”

Steve suspects things between Dr. Banner and Stark have been progressing for quite some time. The way Stark drew in on himself at Steve’s criticism of Thor and Barton engaging in a relationship had been obvious. And Bruce’s disclosure to Ms. Potts-

“Tell, me, Captain. How is it that my relationship with Tony is unacceptable? Is it jealousy? Green isn’t a good look on you.”

“My… what Tony and I… None of that has anything to do with any of this.”

“Doesn’t it?”

The sound of booted feet stomping through the hallways at a run draws the pair of their attentions to the hall. 

“Guys.”

“Nat?” As someone known for stealth, her approach should have been silent. But as Steve listens closer, the stomping continues just past her form.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asks. “I thought you had gone back to Vermont?”

Natasha shakes her head, looking direly serious and Steve catches the way Bruce’s half-smile falls from his face. Her gaze flits from one man to the other before announcing. “They’re here.”

“Dr. Banner. It’s your call.”

Bruce’s eyes go wide, just for a second, before he turns to a window in silence.

“Please don’t put our team, our mission, our world in jeopardy because of a few words.”

Steve thought he had been able to read Dr. Banner. He thought that, by appealing to the man, the scientist, his teammate, Dr. Banner would understand the gravity of his request to come back to the Avengers. 

“This temper-tantrum is worse than Hulk’s. At least he didn’t know what he was doing.” But even that draws no reaction from Bruce. Steve turns away in disappointment.

**⁂  
NATASHA**

Natasha lets Steve pass her, knowing that any attempt to calm him would do more damage than good. Steve needs to lay his argument with Bruce aside in order to focus on the mission at hand. But Natashsa, she’s used to carrying the burden of all sorts of turmoil through a mission. 

She approaches Bruce with a cautious hand raised. “Hey, Big Guy.” It’s a phrase she picked up from Tony. Used especially when Bruce seems to have turned inward. And now, the man seems lost in thought, eyes locked on some point far off in the city but his focus on the world within him. 

Waiting for him to respond is a delicate game. She has to know when to push further and when to hang back. In order to support Bruce’s independence, his decisions, Natasha takes her time. It’s time they don’t have today, but if anything is going to win Bruce over, if anything is going to bring Hulk back to the team, it’s patience. Bruce’s agency has been stripped from him over and over again - by the monster inside of him and the people who aim to control him. Natasha won’t do the same.

Finally, Bruce’s eyes flutter and he turns to Natasha. He pulls back as if surprised she’s come so close. 

“Hi.” She whispers with a smile. Tony may be able to bounce around when Bruce is in a daze - shoving gadgets into Bruce’s arms and chattering a mile a minute - but Natasha won’t overwhelm him like that. “Are you OK?”

“I shouldn’t have left. I could have… Tony said the same thing that… We could have observed Hulk in the training room. Talked to him. Asked him what happened.”

Natasha nods. “We don’t have time for that today. We need you with us out there.”

“No. No, I won’t put you all at risk. You’ll depend on Hulk and if he can’t be trusted... If he’s going to be liability…”

Natasha puts her hand on Bruce’s arm, trying to anchor him to the present conversation. It seems he keeps retreating into his own mind, struggling to finish his sentences.

“What if he hurts civilians?”

“I don’t think Hulk is going to stand against Abomination and see civilians as the threat.”

Bruce folds his hands over his chest. “I don’t need to hear another argument about how Blonsky is my problem.”

“Abomination has seen defeat at Hulk’s hand without the help of the Avengers. The job can be over quickly - and we can all go back to hating each other - if we all work together for a little while.”

Bruce raises his chin to let Natasha know just how poor her choice of words was. 

Natasha tries to explain to Bruce that he can do what he wants - what he feels like he needs to - and thrive in whatever capacity his wishes, “But you can do that after the mission. Think of the needs of the team before you think of yourself. Just this once.” 

Her phrasing knocks him for another loop.

“I’ve been thinking of the good of everyone else since I joined this team.” 

He doesn’t fire off a speech with the speed and sharpness that Tony might have. Nonetheless, the slow and measured rebuttal he gives carries more weight. It hangs heavily in the room even after he walks out. 

Natasha looks out the window, to the city that will look very different once the day, and the fight, are done. 

New York City is possibly the worst place for Hulk to live. It would have been better for him, for Bruce, to be living quietly off the grid. But something is keeping him here - and Natasha isn’t blind to the fact that the one time Bruce chose to leave Manhattan Island it was to follow Tony across the country.

Natasha knows Bruce wants a place where he belongs, a family, a home. It’s what they all want to some degree. And Bruce has -- _had_ \-- found it here. She shouldn’t have made it sound like he was needed for the mission and then expendable. She knows she messed up the conversation when she mentioned their teammates hating each other. After everything, Natasha could have done without the reminder, too.

But now wasn’t the time to sugar coat the situation. Even if what she’s asking of him echoes of past manipulations. She could sympathize. Natasha and Bruce have always shared a special bond - both having been used, conditioned, and exploited for use by their government. 

This is different. Today Bruce gets a choice. Yet, when Natasha looks over at her friend for a clue as to which path he’ll choose, she sees a man who’s lost.

**⁂**

When Natasha meets with Clint to suit up for the mission, Clint is hesitant to ask what she knows he’s curious to know. 

“He’s not coming, is he.” Clint coils rope around his elbow as he speaks, keeping his eyes on the row of accessories on the bench rather than looking up at his teammate and friend.

Natasha gives a slow twist of her head as she buckles her utility belt. 

Clint may not be looking directly at her, but he sees. “All I did that day was to follow Dr. Banner’s instructions.” The frustration in Clint’s argument is one he’s harbored since Bruce woke from his transformation. Even when things were getting good between him and Bruce again. Even when they’d gone from Word Wars on their phone apps to meeting for Scrabble on Sunday nights at 8, Clint had carried the burden of this confusion.

Natasha adjusts the zipper of her suit before securing her bracelets. She raises her arms in a fighting stance to remind her body of their new weight. “I think he blames himself just as much as anyone.” 

“Why do you say that?”

Instead of continuing her routine, going through the motions of the kata she uses to warm up, she drops her hands. “I think he’s scared of Hulk. Scared of how he will react to the team, but also scared of what he will think of Bruce when he realizes Bruce developed a way to stop him.”

Clint clips his grappling hook and line to his belt and hands over the second set. “But Hulk can’t hurt Dr. Banner, right? I mean, when Hulk’s out… there’s no way Hulk can touch him.”

“Bruce cares a lot less about himself than he does about the rest of us. If Hulk were to hurt-”

“Tony,” Clint interjects, thinking he knows the man’s allegiance. 

“- _any_ member of our team,” Natasha corrects him, reminds him, assures him, “it would tear Bruce apart.”

Clint shakes his head. “Not me. He’d say I deserved it.”

Natasha gives his arm a squeeze. “Sort it out after the mission. We’ve got our hands full already.”

**⁂  
MELINDA**

The Host’s (Bruce’s) refusal to join the rest of the Avengers team comes as no surprise. Bruce reports plans to remain at the Tower. Bruce states he will use this time to further research ways to improve communication with and the cognition of the Alter (Hulk). There has been mention, among the Avengers team, of interest in Hulk being given the opportunity to advocate for himself. 

**⁂**

Melinda eagerly stands at Bruce’s side with her tablet and stylus, ready to take notes. Trying to put Bruce’s descriptions into words has proven difficult. Sometimes a bit of a sketch is more helpful than a thesaurus when trying to capture the nebulous turmoil inside him. 

She quickly realizes, however, that Bruce’s focus is nowhere near the screens in front of them at the lab. 

“Perhaps we should grab something to drink. The AC in here really dries a person out, y’know?” Melinda presumes Bruce can relate; the way he sucks on peppermint candies and refills his mug throughout the day. 

In the kitchen, Bruce fills a kettle and she squeezes a bit of lotion on to her hands. She sits on the couch, crossing her legs in front of her as she rubs the cream up and down her forearms. She turns on the television to check the News. 

Immediately, the News report piques Bruce’s interest and consumes him. 

By the time the helicopters get a clear view of the fight through the smoke, Bruce is seated on the couch. It’s a good thing he made it. Melinda thinks his legs would have given way if he’d been standing to watch Captain Rogers being batted across the screen like a racquetball. 

As the News plays, Bruce’s tea goes cold in his hands. 

His fingers grip the mug so tightly Melinda is surprised the ceramic doesn’t crack -- it’s then that she realizes Bruce does not retain any of Hulk’s strength outside of transformation. She takes notes quietly, not that she thinks any movement on her part will tear his eyes from the screen. 

While the Avengers complete their mission, Bruce spends most of his time watching the News footage of the fight and mumbling that he should join them. 

Without Hulk, Captain Rogers’ original battle strategy is thrown. He adapts, as always, even Bruce mutters understanding of the captain’s plans as they unfold, but he can see Abomination adapting just as quickly. 

With the team bickering and strategizing, Thor grows restless on screen. 

The team is getting pummelled. 

Finally, the man who fancies himself a god takes to the sky and brings the fight directly to Abomination. 

From the hours of video footage Melinda has studied, she can tell Thor Odinson is using the same fighting style he uses with Hulk in the gym. It’s smart. It’s moderately effective. He does surprisingly well against Abomination, however, the Avengers team is determined to help. 

They place themselves in positions susceptible to attack - especially the unenhanced humans (Tony Stark/Iron Man and Clint Barton/Hawkeye). With his attention split on the safety/injuries of his teammates, Thor isn’t able to be as devastating against Abomination as he could be. 

Bruce wonders aloud if maybe the team should have left Thor to deal with the threat alone. Melinda considers that a pair-up of Hulk and Thor could have taken down Abomination with minimal casualties, but she won’t dare say so out loud. 

She observes the odd back and forth as Bruce vacillates and the fight gets more intense. She can read through Bruce’s concern and clearly sees the favoritism he shows for whenever Iron Man is onscreen - but also notices his worry amplifies when Hawkeye is featured. Melinda can tell that Bruce worries for the unenhanced humans more than the others on the team - which makes sense. She also knows that Hulk has a better fighting relationship with Hawkeye and Thor than the others and wonders if what Bruce has been alluding to - his ability to sense Hulk within him without transformation - is real. 

The mission is going terribly. And they could see it from miles away - which is about as close as the News helicopters would dare get. 

Ebersol joins them in the living room, watching the screen intently, studying the Avengers and nodding when they succeed, hissing when they fail in their attacks. Melinda wants to tell him to shut up - if it’s not irritating Bruce, it’s certainly irritating her. 

He looks like he’s taking notes in his head and she figures that he probably is - he’s been working with Tony on the suits and weapons, hasn’t he? 

Melinda wishes she could turn away from the screen as Abomination starts looking like he's going to tear New York asunder and bury the Avengers with it. But the only other place to look is at Bruce - and she’s desperately trying to keep her eyes from flicking toward the strangled cry Bruce is making as his tea falls from his hands. 

The edge of the coffee table does the job his grip hadn’t and the cup cracks in half before landing at Bruce’s feet. 

**⁂  
BRUCE**

The team underestimates the monster - they account for his strength and size, yes, but there is a man under the muscle, under the monster. 

They forget. Steve and the others. 

They fail to see the soldier strategizing each counter attack. 

Abomination’s sloth is a feint, his stumbles an act to draw in the fight, and it’s only by sheer luck and firepower that the Avengers and SHIELD agents will make it out of there alive. 

It’s obvious that the team has grown reliant on the balance Hulk brings to the group. And it’s obvious to Bruce that - regardless of whether or not Steve and Natasha were trying to manipulate him for help on the mission, he should have granted it. 

Abomination is a brute - huge, strong, out for blood, out for Hulk himself. The Other Guy’s absence has drawn the beast's anger and violence to a new level. 

Abomination _is_ a Hulk problem. Hulk-sized and Hulk-driven. 

Bruce stares at the television screen as Loki’s grinning facade appears at the beast’s side and disappears just as quickly. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce  
> Steve  
> Natasha

**⁂  
BRUCE**

Bruce wrings his hands as he waits on the uppermost balcony of Avengers Tower. He can hear the Quinjet nearby. He could watch its approach if he were to look up. But he can't, he won't. 

He looks at his hands; breathes from his belly; and begs the turmoil behind his ribcage to unfurl. He knows what he'll find in the knot: worry, self-loathing, hurt, anger, second-guesses, blame. None of it will do him any good. But keeping it harbored inside - fueling the part of him that he's promised to control - doesn't feel like the best option either.

The Quinjet touches down and Bruce thinks he knows what to expect. The Avengers were able to push Abomination far enough back that Loki retrieved him and retreated. The mission was a success, but not without cost. 

Nat and Steve stumble down the jet's ramp to the landing pad as SHIELD medics rush up and into the cargo hold. Thor is next to exit, followed by twin stretchers soon after.

Bruce steps toward the stretchers as they are rolled past.

"They're taking them to the medical wing," Natasha says without an ounce of emotion seeping through.

Bruce wonders if he would still admire the lengths she takes her control, if he didn't have to exercise the same.

Steve looks at Bruce, soot and blood darkening his face, and is a different side of cool. Steve is ice - jagged, splintering, frostbitten. His frown speaks volumes of his disappointment. His lip is nearly curled into a snarl. He rips off his mask in anger and storms into the Tower without saying a word to anyone. 

Natasha places a hand on Bruce's arm before going after him. Her absence leaves Bruce alone with Thor under a stormy sky.

Thor glances toward Bruce and then out at the holes in the skyline - the gaps where buildings used to stand but have since fallen. He doesn't need to say what he's thinking. Bruce assumes it's the same thought that's been running through his own mind. 

The team had been hoping Hulk would join them in the fight. Thor had held onto that hope until the very end. 

"I was loathe to find myself withouten a friend in the fray."

Thor looks into Bruce’s eyes as he speaks, but Bruce knows Thor is speaking to Hulk. Hulk seems to know it too; the way the figure creeps forward from the shadows of Bruce's mind. The god and the beast always had a unique connection. 

"As Avengers we had him in our grasp. But you and I, brother. We would have torn him in twain."

Bruce watches the lines around Thor's eyes as he speaks. With a dry throat and heavy heart, Bruce tells him. "Hulk felt betrayal, too."

But Thor doesn't let him off easy. "Twas not I who fortified the arrows with poison, nor I who armed our allies with the same…” Thor steps closer, places his hand upon Bruce’s shoulder, and sighs. “I was not in search of another brother when I found you, but you are mine. Green and brown. Had I been naive to believe you would come?” Thor’s gaze lifts to the sky and thunder rolls. “Perhaps that is my curse. To be deceived by the brothers I love.” 

Bruce has always felt a kind of kinship with Thor, with his inability to trust family. He’s always felt drawn to protect Thor in some ways because he thought of him as naive - relentlessly trusting his brother and being fooled. 

But now that Bruce is the one who needs a second chance, who requires forgiveness from the man whose optimism and ability to see the good in people are assets to the team, Bruce hopes Thor hasn’t written him off completely.

Bruce tries to tell him. He tries to tell Thor that he fought well, that Hulk is proud of him, but without giving anything away regarding his progress communicating with and understanding Hulk, it’s difficult. His compliments feel stiff. 

Thor’s expression breaks into a wide smile anyhow. He throws an arm around Bruce and lets out a hearty guffaw. “Thou art a terrible Avenger, Banner. A hero must not allow emotion to impede his ability to fight.” Thor slaps Bruce’s back and laughs again. “But thou art human. An imperfect being.” 

Bruce supposes he’s grateful for the ‘pass’, to know that not everyone outright hates him. 

“I look forward to crushing our green brother into the ground during our next training exercises. 'Twill be my pleasure to knock some sense into his thick skull.” 

Within Bruce, Hulk feels heavy and light. The figure moves through the space of Bruce’s mind like a beast on the prowl. He barks out a sharp roar as Bruce stumbles backward in response to a playful jab of Thor’s fist to his arm. 

“I owe Lady Jane a visit.” Thor says, and the way Mjolnir swings at his side gives the impression that Thor will not be making a pit stop to his sleeping quarters in order to freshen up before his trip overseas. “Emotion has no place in battle. Afterard, however, one must attend to those for whom one cares. Do you not agree?”

Bruce watches Thor as Mjolnir’s spinning speed picks up. The whistling irritates his ears and the wind pulls the air from his lungs. No matter how many times they remind him, Thor still manages to stand too close when preparing to take off. 

Bruce has to shield his eyes from the rain whipping into his face. The discomfort only lasts a moment before Thor launches the hammer and himself into the air and is gone.

Running his hands over his head, Bruce slicks back his wet hair and steps into the Tower. His shoes squeak over the tile. His clothes cling to him. He leaves a trail of small puddles in his wake. 

On the SHIELD floors it’s custodial staff who clean up after messes. Bruce misses the beeps and bops of MEEP and MOP. He misses Tony’s light laughter as the bots followed Bruce like puppies around the kitchen. He misses the way Tony would sarcastically, affectionately, coo at the way they came to rest under Bruce’s bar stool while the men shared the morning ‘paper.

Bruce swallows hard. Thor may not plan on washing up before seeing Jane, but there is no way Bruce will walk into the medical wing in such a state. Unless…

“JARVIS, can you give me an update on Tony, please?”

“Of course, Dr. Banner. Sir is currently in surgery under the care of two of SHIELD’s top surgeons: Drs. Batra and Nelle. Would you like me to send you the details?”

Standing at the elevator, Bruce finds himself at a crossroads. “Yeah. Yes. If you think Tony would be OK with that.”

There is an unnatural pause before the AI responds. “It would be impossible for me to ask his permission at this point in time.”

“Right. Um.” Bruce knows he could have gotten the information. He may still be able to access it. But he’s already asked about Tony’s consent and JARVIS doesn’t seem to have clear orders as to whether Tony’s health records should be shared. Nonetheless, Bruce finds it interesting that JARVIS assumed they would be. “Then, I guess we wait until he’s conscious.”

“Of course, Dr. Banner.”

**⁂**

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Bruce regards Director Fury with a hardened look - not unlike the one mirrored back at him. “Don’t.” 

“We were wondering when you were gonna show up. Hoped it would be a whole lot earlier. Sure coulda used your help out there.”

Bruce bites his tongue and holds his ground. He wonders who Fury is really talking to. With Thor it was somehow easy to understand the switch. He had a way about his posture, an angle of his head, when he was speaking to Hulk instead of Bruce. But with Fury, it’s all the same, thinly veiled hostility. 

Fury drones on about Bruce’s shortcomings, but what he doesn’t mention holds Bruce’s interest much stronger. There’s no talk about the serums. Fury spares no words on the projects SHIELD R&D were supposedly developing to specifically go up against Abomination. 

Bruce doesn’t make accusations. Doesn’t acknowledge he recognizes the absence of information. He wants to know when he’s being lied to, but he doesn’t want them to know he’s watching for it. 

So, instead of tearing into Fury, Bruce swallows the shit poured into him and waits to be dismissed before finishing his walk to the recovery rooms.

Bruce finds someone to direct him to where Clint and Tony are resting. “You’re the first to see them,” the nurse informs him.

Steve and Natasha will be in their meeting with Coulson and Hill for a while. For at least another hour, they’ll go through their debrief and all of the other ‘important’ stuff that Bruce is no longer required to take part in since he’s been grounded. 

It’s nice not having anyone judging his reactions when he sees the two of them battered and bandaged in their beds. But, it’s a heavy burden to carry all on his own. 

“They’re just sleeping off the after effects of the anesthesia now. But I wouldn’t wake them,” the nurse warns as she readies herself to go. “Can’t trust Barton to stay in bed once he wakes up. And Stark needs the rest even more than him.”

Bruce sits between the beds, back straight, hands folded in his lap, lips pressed into a line. His eyes roam from one sleeping figure to the other, but he doesn’t dare move his head to face either one of them straight on. Every muscle holds still as if any shift could be what wakes those at rest.

Bruce wonders how he let it come to this and thinks about what Thor said - _he’s a terrible Avenger._ Bruce has never felt like an Avenger at all. He was hardly given the chance to. For all of the time spent in the lab with Tony, it always felt like SHIELD was trying to find ways to keep Dr. Banner entertained until Hulk was to be called upon and put to use. 

And now, when the team needed him, when Bruce was the only one who really knew what the team was up against, he held Hulk back. Bruce doesn’t just feel like a terrible Avenger, but like a terrible human, as well. He left his friends in danger when he could have helped. He could have prevented this.

Tony gasps and winces in his sleep. He twists on the bed and whimpers and Bruce wants to reach out to him, to comfort him, but he chews on the inside of his lip and stares instead. 

Bruce is forcing himself to be so completely still that he doesn’t realize the tension in his arms is growing. There’s a heat traveling from his neck, over his shoulders, and down to his fingers. It’s only when he hears the dry whispers of his hands rubbing against each other that he looks down. He recognizes the twisting loop of his forefinger, the clumsy imitation of what his hands must look like to others when he crochets. No, not what it looks like. What it _feels_ like. 

Bruce can sense it now. Hulk’s heft settled into his arms. Though they haven’t changed size or color, Bruce can feel Hulk’s presence. And as Bruce watches his hands move - slowly, carefully, methodically - he realizes what Hulk must be trying to do. 

Bruce freezes and his hands come to rest in his lap once more. It doesn’t make sense that Hulk would want to help him, that Hulk would try to soothe him...

“I like ropes.” 

Bruce turns to the groggy voice in the bed to his right. “You w-what?” 

“When I need to keep my hands busy,” Clint says as he unwinds the bandages around his wrist and up his forearm. He has a peek at the stitches beneath the gauze with a quick, “Yikes, I think that’s broken,” then wraps himself up again. To Bruce, he picks up where he left off. “My… We used to rock climb a lot. When I was a kid. Coiling ropes and learning knots became second nature to me.”

“I crochet,” Bruce says with a shrug. 

Clint gives a small nod before drawing in a slow breath. Bruce thinks maybe this isn’t the conversation they should be having. The guy almost died because Hulk couldn’t be trusted in the streets, because Bruce hadn’t trusted Hulk enough to let Tony or any of the others train with him after the incident on The Fourth, and now they're trading hobbies? Bruce wants to apologize, but seeing how badly the team has fared, he knows words won’t be enough. 

When Clint yawns, Bruce tells him it’s OK to sleep. 

“Are you gonna stay?”

Bruce glances over at Tony, lifts his shoulder, and drops it. “I guess.” But he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure showing SHIELD how much the team means to him, how much Tony means to him, is the best move. If he shows his hand, lets them know Tony is a point of vulnerability for him, then SHIELD can use it against him.

Natasha takes a seat at Clint’s other side. She pulls her chair up close to his bed and takes his hand in hers. 

The corner of Bruce’s mouth lifts in a smile as Clint swears at her for shifting his IV. Natasha tells him to ‘suck it up’ before dropping her voice into a whisper. She speaks quickly and quietly, but Bruce picks up enough to recognize the Russian Orthodox prayer. 

“What’s she doin’?” Clint pretending that because he can’t read her lips he can’t figure it out.

“I think it’s a recipe she saw on some TV show. Cannonball? Hannibal? I don’t know. Pop culture references are as lost on me as they are on-” Bruce catches himself. With the easy conversation he almost let himself forget the frosted blue of Steve’s eyes when he stepped of the jet.

Bruce doesn’t know if Clint catches the awkward in the room, but the archer gripes, “She’s such a bitch,” quickly enough that the silence doesn’t hang in the air too long.

  
Natasha smacks him. Without looking, she manages to find the one spot on his unslung arm that isn’t covered in welts. Well, it wasn’t.

Seeing them act like siblings reminds Bruce of Thor calling him brother and how Melinda refers to family as a strength. But Bruce isn’t so sure he has a family here. And the family he knew before he became a part of _whatever the Avengers are_ came with too much pain for one person to bear. 

Bruce sticks his arm out to wave for Clint’s attention. Clint turns with a split-lipped grin. 

“You don’t have your hearing aids in, do you?” Bruce asks Clint before making his decision whether to stay or go.

“No, but-” Clint’s eyes dart around the room at the bedside tables and wheeled trays. “Nat, they’re by Tony.”

Bruce stands. “I can get them.”

“Banner, what’s up?” Clint grunts as he shimmies himself up higher in bed to sit. “You can just talk.”

Bruce looks down at Tony and remembers flashes of the fight he’d watched on the News. He thinks of all of the ways Hulk could have helped draw the fight away from him and Hawkeye. 

He grabs the hearing aids from the tray and passes them into Clint’s open palm. “I don’t want you to misunderstand what I have to say.” 

“Ok.” Clint affixes his hearing aids and nods to Bruce for him to begin.

“Why didn’t SHIELD use their fancy new poisons on Abomination. Wasn’t that the point of all their testing? Isn’t that what the serums are supposedly for?” Bruce thinks that even if the serums were developed to weaponize SHIELD against Hulk, they could have been tested on Abomination. The biological make up between Hulk and Abomination really are quite similar - in theory. 

If anything, the serums could have been used by SHIELD to keep up the appearance of being on Hulk’s good side. 

Clint straightens up. “We did. I did.”

“I saw them,” Natasha confirms. “Clint had a dozen serum arrows in his quiver.”

“But they didn’t work,” Clint clarifies. “My first shot was a direct hit to his throat. Naturally. Thank you very much. Hold your applause for the end.”

“That’s good.”

“I mean, obviously there’s more to it…” Clint looks down at himself and across to Tony, reminding everyone of their loss. “The guy on the comms told me to take another shot. Said I pissed off the ugly trash heap, but that the serum hadn’t stuck.” Clint’s voice, however, doesn’t match up with what he says with his hands. ‘ _Bruce, I watched the serum empty into his neck before he tore out the arrow. Yes, it did seem to drive him up the walls, but it wasn’t: ‘Aarggh you shot me!’ aggression. It was like: super strength, frat bro, football scholarship roid rage._ ’

Bruce squints to keep up with Clint's hands.

“Ok.” Bruce says out loud. He doesn’t think he can keep up two conversations at once. It’s hard enough for him to speak and sign the same thoughts simultaneously. “Do you have any more of the serum, er, the arrows?”

Clint slowly shakes his head. “When they told me to shoot him again, I missed.”

“You…” Bruce doesn’t believe The Hawkeye missed.

Clint looks at Bruce straight on, with no expression. “The shot was unattainable. I emptied my quiver trying to take Abomination down. But I missed. And the arrows released their drugs upon impact with the buildings and streets.”

“I’m sorry to hear that you broke your perfect record.”

“Wasn’t perfect.” Clint says. ‘ _I missed the second shot they told me to take at Hulk, too._ ’

**⁂  
STEVE**

Tony picks at his bandages and Steve grinds his teeth. 

“Stop,” Steve says for what feels like the hundredth time today. But if it were him stuck in bed with nothing else to do, Steve thinks he’d be losing his mind, too. It’s almost cruel to be sketching while Tony spends his time staring at the ceiling, drifting in and out of sleep.

Steve knows Tony’s itching to work again, but that’s a big ‘No Go’ until medical staff gives him the ‘All Clear’. 

Even Pepper’s visits don’t seem like they involve much work. Her shifts mostly consist of busy talk. Something about a benefit scheduled for the end of the year. And then there’s the sporadic shouting followed by the beeping of Tony’s monitors and nurses forcing Tony back into bed.

When the Iron Man suit was destroyed, shrapnel had lodged itself in Tony’s thigh and abdomen. It seemed like the tedious removal and recovery was going to be the worst of it. Until Tony woke complaining of pain in his chest. 

The discovery that his cracked sternum had disrupted the seat of his reactor came about shortly thereafter. And his recovery time shot up from three weeks to a possible three months. 

Clint’s jokes about robots turning on their masters weren’t taken too kindly. Steve had him transferred to another room over the weekend. He’ll be cleared to use his guest quarters in a day anyway. 

Apparently bored out of his mind, Tony opens his shirt and shrugs it slowly off his shoulders in mock seduction. “Draw me like one of your French girls. Wearing this,” his fingers trail around the rim of his reactor, “and only this.”

Steve can’t wait for Natasha to relieve him of his shift; it’s the third time Tony’s made that joke this week. After the second time, Steve actually rented Titanic - and now he wishes he hadn’t. 

“I’ll see when you can be transferred to the penthouse.”

Tony groans in response, knowing they’d been denied permission for transfer just this morning. “Can you ask Nat to bring my tablet?”

“You’re not supposed to be messing around with that stuff. Moving your arms too much-”

“If I don’t work toward stabilizing the reactor, a cracked sternum will be the least of my problems.”

Steve sits back with a sigh. 

“She _is_ up next for babysitting duty, right?”

“If you didn’t make it _feel_ like babysitting, it would just be your friends wanting to spend time with you while you’re on bedrest.”

Tony quiets after that. Not just his mouth, but everything about him slows down. “I think I’ll try to sleep again,” he says, eventually.

Steve frowns, “I’ll try to get you that tablet.” He knows the computer will be a temporary salve, a distraction. Steve knows he’s been acting a part in much the same way - a pseudo-replacement for Bruce.

**⁂**

The mission itself, failure as it was, did little to bring the team to harmony. However, caring for their injured parties seems to be doing them some good. Clint’s broken arm and Tony’s injuries have forced the Avengers to slow down and rely on SHIELD agents to handle the minor threats to Earth for a while. 

That doesn’t seem to matter to the others, they are content to spend their days with Tony in the hospital. All of them, except Bruce. 

Steve has stepped up in Bruce’s absence; much as he did when Pepper found Happy. He’s there when Tony wakes up in the morning, stays with him when he falls asleep in pain. 

Tony isn’t a fan of the painkillers. Or, truly, he is too much a fan and therefore relies on Steve’s judgment regarding how much to take and when. It’s an unfair pressure to place upon Steve who doesn’t experience pain the same way or to the same extreme anymore, but Steve remembers what it was like to be small and brittle. Since taking on the responsibility, he’s done the best he can. 

When Tony wakes, he asks about his next dose of meds, and Steve is happy to announce Tony has held up eight hours between his last pill. He holds one out between his fingers, but Tony shakes his head. “I’m OK. I was just wondering.”

Steve is just about to tell him that he’s proud of him when he hears a ping on Tony’s tablet and commotion outside the door. Too loud to be Romanoff.

Steve tells Tony to stay quiet, which of course, is the worst thing to say to him because then Tony wants to know ‘why’ and ‘for how long’ and ‘who says you’re the boss of me’. Steve pushes himself out of his chair with a long suffering sigh to peer into the hallway. 

It’s Banner. Dammit. And Ebersol. Less ‘dammit’, but still. Either one of them would mean Tony isn’t going to get the rest he promised the nurse he would. Both means… it can’t mean anything good. Banner hasn’t been up to visit since the night of Tony’s last surgery.

Natasha swears Banner takes a midnight watch, but Steve hasn’t seen him in the mornings or evenings, coming or going.

At the far end of the hall, the scientists walk together. “How is he?” Banner blows on his tea before taking a careful sip as he waits for an answer.

“Stir crazy,” Ebersol says. “But he’s got a new suit in the works.”

“Let’s hope it’s more durable than the last one.”

“Yes, of course, Dr. Banner. I’ll be sure it can take a beating.”

Steve crosses his arms. _It better._ These nerds think they’re hot stuff, but overestimating their own tech almost got Tony killed. 

As the pair make their way closer to Tony's room, Steve thinks maybe Bruce will stop. _Hey, it could be the day he actually gives a rat's ass that he nearly got his boyfriend - or whatever their relationship was - killed._

But Bruce doesn't even make it all the way to the door. Gaze averted, he turns a corner and disappears down an adjacent hallway. _What a piece-of-work._

Dr. Ebersol greets Steve with a shy smile. "I know it's not my turn to- But I was hoping I could run something by Dr. Stark-"

" _Doctor_ Stark?"

"He has five PhDs," Dr. Ebersol's voice raises in question.

"Mr. Stark is fine. I told you, you can call me Tony."

Dr. Ebersol hums like even the suggestion of such informality makes him uncomfortable. 

"You wanted to show me something?" Tony waves him over to the bed.

With a look over his shoulder at the men now huddled over their handheld computers, Steve excuses himself from the room.

**⁂  
NATASHA**

There's a soft light coming from Tony's hospital room. It shines under and around the door, its line brighter where the door is ajar. Natasha sneaks her toe between the door and its frame to wedge it open a little further, unnoticed. She can make out Tony's snores - louder than they were before his injuries - and the shushing noises of a second voice. 

Natasha watches a while. She sees Steve's bag, his art supplies under the bed. She can just walk in, grab the bag, and slip out again. It's possible Bruce wouldn't be scared off by her presence.

Natasha presses her toe against the door again, widening the gap. She has full view of the bed, now. And can't bring herself to interrupt. 

Bruce is sitting close, his chair right up against the bed. He has one hand on Tony's wrist; the other smoothes Tony's hair away from his face. 

Natasha hooks her toe under the door with the intention of pulling it closed, but the door creaks on its hinges.

"Nat," Bruce says. The hand on Tony's wrist remains firmly in place. "Take the other side."

It's a firm request that Natasha doesn't really understand, but she takes a guess and stands at Tony's right-hand side. She clamps her hand around his wrist.

"He needs his bracelets."

"His what?"

"To call his suit. He's been having more nightmares. But when he feels the weight of…"

"I get it." Natasha can see the difference in Tony. His face is no longer twisted into a grimace. His breathing is even and slow. "What I don't get is why you won't let him see you."

"He knows I'm here."

Natahsa had known Bruce was visiting all along. She could tell by the echo of his energy still in the room. She could smell him when she’d come in after her run. 

(It never made any sense to Steve who argued up and down against Bruce's concern -- _How do you smell the energy of someone?_ ) 

Call it Widow-sense, but Natasha knew. 

As for Tony's awareness? Natasha isn't so sure. 

"You're here?" Steve asks from the door. Then, he takes note of what’s happening with a widening of his eyes and quick strides to the bed. "Tony doesn't like being restrained."

"It's ok." Natasha gives Tony's wrist a brief squeeze before slowly releasing her hold. 

"He was having a nightmare," Bruce explains.

"So wake him up."

Bruce scoffs. 

"What?" Steve folds his arms over his chest, making himself look bigger but in no way intimidating to the superspy or Bruce. 

"You may be in the business of keeping him up all night, but I'd like him to get enough rest to come home-"

Steve's eyebrows come together at the slight elevation of Bruce's voice. Instead of raising his own voice, Steve lowers himself to sit. Perched on the edge of a chair by the foot of the bed, he frowns in acknowledgement of their struggle. "I've been trying to get him home for the past two weeks."

"I know."

"Of course you do." Steve heaves a great sigh. "I didn't know about the nightmares. I know he's in a lot of pain in the morning. But I didn't know."

"The tossing and turning is worse on some nights than on others. I just get him through the long stretch of night before the nurses come in for their daily vitals check and tests." Bruce runs his hand over Tony's hair a final time before grabbing his bag. 

"So, that's it?” Steve asks. “You're gonna go?"

"I try to make my visits short when I go where I'm not wanted."

"And even shorter when you end up in places you are."

"Depends on why people are interested in me sticking around."

Natasha hushes them with the sharp sound of air pushed through her teeth. "What if we stop bickering for a minute? We all want to be here. None of us can sleep. So let's just… sit. No talking. No puffy chests and huffy sighs. Just… sitting."

Dissatisfied with the idea of being idle, Steve bends for his sketchpad. Not to be outdone, Bruce picks up his yarn. Natasha rolls her eyes and takes out her phone.

"Well, look at that," Steve says with feigned surprise. "Clint's got you hook-"

"Sh." Natasha cuts him off quickly. She's almost finished with this novel and excited to start the next. The last thing she wants is to engage in discussion about Clint's obsession with app games. "No talking."

"I was-"

"If you must know, I'm a Stephen King fan."

Bruce pauses his row to lift his head in interest. "Really?"

Natasha shrugs. "It's almost Halloween."

"Killer clowns or telekinetic high school students?"

Natasha smiles. Steve is completely lost and it’s just too easy to follow Bruce’s lead. "Rabid dog, today. Then haunted hotel."

Bruce nods in approval, and Steve rolls his eyes, muttering to himself. "I thought you said 'no talking'."


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Melinda  
> Bruce

**⁂  
TONY**

With a promise to remain on bedrest - a lie spoken through his teeth and believed by no one - Tony is finally granted permission to move back into his penthouse after 10 days in the infirmary. 

"They would have let you out sooner if you weren't opening up your stitches all the time."

Tony faces Paul with a huff. "Unintentional. Irrelevant." He turns back to the file on his screen too quickly and his wince is paired with a swear. 

“Maybe it’s time to put this away for the day,” Paul suggests gently.

No matter how delicate he tries to be, Tony struggles against pain and fatigue until it's difficult to stand and Paul ushers him out of the lab.

There's no use arguing at that point. Tony only wishes it were a different set of hands helping him down the hall, a steadier voice telling him they'll get back to the project tomorrow.

“Another hour or so,” Tony says and he hears Paul’s quiet surrender. 

Paul has been compassionate and patient. He even asked if there was some way he could help reseat the reactor, noticing before anyone else that it still brings Tony quite a bit of discomfort. 

Tony had waved him away, the same as he’s been doing with JARVIS. The reactor is only half the problem, and he’s getting to it. Tony knows there’s more to his fatigue than his injuries. He knows that the real reason he keeps pulling up short, clutching his chest with a frown, isn’t physical at all. 

Every time Tony comes across Bruce’s signature in the code, his footprint on their projects, Tony feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest. 

It wasn’t an easy decision, but Tony shelves his old projects - he can’t work on anything that used to be shared with Bruce when Bruce isn’t speaking to him. 

With Tony on the lookout for something new, Paul has been only too enthusiastic to show off his latest prosthesis designs. It’s downright impressive, how much Paul has been able to do while Tony was in the hospital.

“Without access to any of your files, I wasn’t able to do much else.” 

Tony nods and adjusts the security settings - allowing Paul the smallest peeks into their projects. It isn’t as much freedom as he’s given Bruce, but it should be enough to let him theorize whenever Tony isn’t around. Not that Tony is planning on being absent.

Thinking of Bruce again triggers a sharp twinge from his chest that shoots down his abdomen. The feeling tangles in knots. He's had enough for the day. 

Slowly, Tony pushes himself away from the computers. His chair rolls a bit before coming to a gentle stop at the center of the room. He takes a last look at the holograms before closing up shop. "I think Clint's doing some game night thing…" he announces casually, as if that’s the reason for retiring so early.

Paul crosses the room, taking Tony’s arm as he goes. Both pretending like Tony doesn’t need the support. "Well, come on then. Your idea of fashionably late has fallen into the rude category."

Tony forces a smile. “Shows how much you know. For me, this new ‘fashionably late’ is practically on time.”

**⁂  
MELINDA**

The Avengers have taken to congregating in shared living spaces. They appear to enjoy the ‘time off’; although, much of their conversation revolves around the state of the world under the protection of SHIELD agents and ‘The Fantastic Four’. 

Ebersol doesn’t hang around much, says he doesn’t want to encroach. He keeps pretty stable hours at Stark’s workshop and the lab. The team assumes that if he doesn’t relieve his limbs of their prostheses, that they’ll become irritated. They also presume he’s embarrassed to do so in their company. Their theories may hold some water. Ebersol seems the private type.

Romanoff is harder to read. She is argumentative and cold. There is something unfeeling about her. It is obvious that her mind is elsewhere; she doesn’t wish to be here, but she won’t leave with the team in the state it’s in. She is loyal out of a sense of duty. She rarely smiles. When she does, however, her eyes… perhaps the dichotomy is most troublesome. What mirth she displays must be a farce. Her company is not one the others seek out. 

**⁂**

Having completed her shift at the lab and fulfilled the minimal efforts of extracurricular socialization expected by social norms, Melinda heads out of the game room toward the elevators. 

She doesn’t like to overstay her welcome. The Avengers are a kind of family, after all. 

It strikes her as odd to hear Bruce’s voice behind her. Although he encourages Melinda’s participation in after-work socialization, mostly to report back on Tony’s health, Bruce doesn’t attend himself. 

Natasha’s voice joins his with a plea that sounds like a challenge. “Come in for one hour.”

“It’s my fault he got hurt.”

“It’s your fault he’s walking around thinking you don’t _care_ that he’s hurting.”

Natasha is usually the quietest one in the room, aside from Melinda herself. But as she tries to talk to Bruce about the hole he’s left in their team, about how she sees both him and Tony wearing thin, it’s the closest she’s come to raising her voice. 

“He trusted me, Nat. You don’t know how much. And I couldn’t trust myself to…”

“Don’t go. You can fix this,” Natasha says, and Melinda is grateful for the small alcove where the elevators sit. She hopes she’s gone unnoticed. 

Banner responds, but his words are too much rumble and mumble to make out.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, Bruce, don’t. You owe it to us, to him, to stick around.”

_Heartless,_ Melinda thinks. And she pushes the button for the elevator without a care if the others are alerted to her presence. 

The heavy footsteps approaching unmistakably belong to Banner. She wonders how close Hulk is to the surface. 

The elevator arrives too quickly to be responding to her call. When the doors open, they find themselves faced with Ebersol, Stark, and Rogers.

Melinda checks Banner’s expression through the corner of her eye. It’s unreadable, blank. But Stark swallows hard, looking crestfallen and drawn.

**⁂  
BRUCE**

_Just look at me_ , Bruce thinks. Hulk sulks within him, leadening Bruce’s limbs as he stands. _Please, Tony. Look up._

But Tony’s eyes move from the floor to Steve’s hands to Dr. Lucenstern’s briefcase. He won’t meet Bruce’s gaze.

Bruce wants to take Tony from the others. He wants to be the one always within arm's reach. He wants to be the one Tony depends on for strength when his body feels weak. 

“I’m…” Bruce manages to croak the start of a sentence he has no idea how to finish. 

“Tonight’s Scrabble,” Steve says, and he sounds so damn hopeful. 

“Yeah.”

Steve’s blue eyes sparkle with that hope. “Clint keeps kickin’ our asses. Maybe you could stick around?”

Beside Bruce, Melinda stiffens. She’s noticed the phrase that keeps getting thrown in his face. 

“I think-” Tony’s brown eyes meet his and Bruce almost swallows his tongue. They’re bruised with exhaustion and bone dry. “I was going to my room.” The twitch of Tony’s jaw breaks Bruce’s heart. Just like that, Bruce’s plans for the evening change. “To get a bag. I thought I’d sit up on the couch for a while.”

**⁂**

Despite doctors’ warnings, Tony has clearly taken on more physically than he should. For Bruce, seeing Tony’s strain at the end of the day is frustrating. It’s like Tony is asking for someone to tell him it’s OK to rest, but then Clint will suggest he should turn in, or Steve will mention Tony’s obvious fatigue, and Tony will respond by pushing himself harder to prove he’s doing just fine. 

Bruce watches Tony push himself, strain himself, night after night, until the man finally succumbs to his exhaustion and parks himself on one of the armchairs in the lounge. Bruce watches and despairs and knows that neither action is doing anyone any good.

Tonight Tony reclines on the couch, and Bruce takes a seat upon the cushion at the far end. _Being ignored isn’t so bad_ , Bruce thinks as Tony pretends not to notice he has company. The engineer continues talking missiles vs rockets with Clint, his head propped upon the armrest, legs stretched across the cushions, his feet not quite reaching Bruce. 

When conversation has shifted and game night picks up again, Steve drapes a blanket over Tony on his way over to the group at play. The supersoldier isn’t a subtle man; he doesn’t even try to make it look like he’s taking the same interest in everyone’s comfort. 

Regardless of the care of his friend, Tony scowls. “Really not necessary, gramps,” he gripes as he tosses the blanket off of himself. But his movements are slow. His throw is weak. And the blanket only makes it far enough to drape over the back of the couch.

Bruce can feel Tony shivering, despite his refusal for an added layer of warmth. It’s not a constant tremor, but every now and again, Tony shudders against the slight chill in the room. He has his hands tucked into his pockets and seems to have elected to listen to the game of Cards Against Humanity with his eyes closed.

The inches of space between Bruce and Tony are too much. It’s been a week since Tony’s transfer from the infirmary to the penthouse. Almost twice as long since Tony slept soundly enough for Bruce to sneak into his hospital room and spend the night at his bedside. 

Bruce wonders if it’s possible for Tony not to hate him, for Tony to forgive him for not coming to their aid in the fight. He moves closer to him with the pretend need to stretch his back. His thigh brushes Tony’s feet and Tony recoils. 

Bruce wants to catch him by the ankle. He wants to pull him back and tell him to stay. Tony brings his feet to the floor and makes a small sound of discomfort as he sits up and Bruce finally lets desperation fuel him to speak up. 

“Can we talk?”

Tony’s quiet for a while, rubbing the space between his reactor and his left shoulder. Then, “I’ll take honey in my tea.”

**⁂**

With two steaming mugs, Bruce joins Tony on the small balcony outside his kitchen. Tony warms his hands around the mug, but doesn’t appear interested in taking a drink. Bruce takes a small sip of his own.

It’s cold and damp out on the terrace, and Tony shivers against the light breeze. Bruce wants to offer his sweater, his embrace. Anything to help Tony get warm. Tony allows him a step closer, but that’s all Bruce dares to take.

“I shouldn’t have let…” Bruce needs a deep breath to calm the anxiety stirring within him. Hulk feels like he’s pacing; they’re heavy-footed strides in time with every other beat of Bruce’s heart. “I’m so sorry for what happened.”

Tony shakes his head, a fractional movement. His fingers run along the edge of the metal cuffs he wears around his wrists. He huddles into the steam of his tea. “And after?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me. You had said-”

“What did I say, Bruce? What could I have said that would make you think I wanted to see Steve’s face every day, instead of yours?”

“You said I was your person. The one you trusted most with your life.” Bruce watches Tony nod. And Tony’s eyes are fixed on his that give no indication that that trust has wavered. It only fortifies Bruce’s resolve to be the one setting a boundary between them. “You trusted me with your life, but when the time came to protect you, I couldn’t trust myself. I couldn’t trust Hulk, my hold on him, my influence over him. I told you I’d protect you. But I-” 

Bruce stops short at the fall of Tony’s expression. He reaches out to cup his cheek, to trace his scar, and hovers close enough that Tony barely has to lean into his hand before they’re touching. 

“I can take care of myself,” Tony says in a broken whisper.

“Yes, you can. But I wanted to take care of you, too.”

Tony’s frown pulls deeper at the edges like Bruce has said something wrong. His hand curls around Bruce’s wrist and gently pushes him away. 

“Tony, I’m sorry.”

“We’re big boys. We can still be friends.”

The word ‘friend’ is like a knife in Bruce’s heart. It hurts almost as much as seeing Tony carried in on a stretcher. “Of course. If that’s what you want.” 

“What I want?” Tony looks like he’s been wounded. And of course he does. But this goes beyond the physical.

With a low hum, Bruce prompts him to go on. 

“I want something I can’t have.”

“What’s that, Tony?” Bruce clasps his hands in his lap to keep from taking Tony’s.

“You.”

Bruce thinks he gets it; he really does. Tony needs someone he can trust with his submission. And Bruce has proven he’s not that man. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says again, trying to hold Tony’s gaze before Tony turns his eyes to the tea in his hands.

“Me, too.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint!  
> Melinda  
> Tony

**⁂  
CLINT**

“What happened?!” Clint rushes to Ebersol’s side to help him ease Stark into a chair. 

Ebersol sounds out of breath and in shock. He blinks at Stark in disbelief and Clint gets it, it’s not everyday you see your hero's weaknesses. “It was just a little fainting spell, I think. But he hit the ground pretty hard.” 

Clint can relate to the need to keep moving, but he can’t stand watching Stark run himself into the ground. “God. Can you fucking tell him to stop already? Lock him out of the lab or something?”

Ebersol arranges Stark more comfortably on the chair as he falters. “I, um, it’s… it’s his lab. I don’t…”

“I was talking to JARVIS.”

“Oh.”

The voice from above is English and smug. “Agent Barton, would you like me to answer to ‘God’?”

“Would you answer to ‘Hey, Asshole’?” Clint grumbles as he grabs the first aid kit from the wall. 

There’s silence as Clint rummages through the box for what he needs.

“He can’t keep working like this.” Clint snaps the cold compress to life and lays it over Stark’s neck. “I’m getting Dr. Banner. This is bullshit.”

Stark tries to protest, but Clint is already storming through the door.

**⁂**

Skulking in the shadows. That’s where Clint finds Bruce. It’s easy. Clint knows everything there is to know about shadows and dark corners - of rooms, of minds. 

“You can quit the brooding vampire act. It’s very YA. And you’re like, 50.”

“How is he?”

Clint tosses his jacket on the couch before hitching himself onto its back. “You need to stop asking everyone else and start talking to him. He’s, like, literally falling apart and he’s trying to hide it from you like he thinks you don’t even give a shit.”

“I… I give a shit,” Bruce says, like the phrase isn’t meant for his tongue. 

“You could act like it.”

With more strength behind the words, Bruce states again. “I give a shit.”

Clint nods, kicks at Bruce’s bag on the sofa. The jostle knocks loose a hank of yarn he can’t pass up the chance to play with. When Bruce doesn’t object, Clint opens up the hank and lays it around his knees. “I know a thing or two about panicking, don’t I?” 

It’s easier to talk when his hands are busy. Clint uses his utility knife to cut the ties and free the yarn. He’s got nowhere to be, and he’ll make damn sure Bruce knows it. “I’m sorry I used the arrow on Hulk. You know I am. But it was… I really thought…” Clint pulls a thread and starts winding a ball. “How do we know he’s OK?”

“When Thor returns, I’ve decided to bring Hulk out. In the training room.”

Clint carefully follows the circle of yarn around his knees as his little ball grows. “Steve knows?”

“I don’t need anyone’s permission.”

“You don’t. But… Steve knows, doesn’t he.”

“Yes.”

Clint nods. He doesn’t need eyes on his hands while they work, but with his attention on Bruce, his hands slow down. “We’d never seen Hulk respond to explosions like that.”

Bruce stares off at a spot beyond Clint’s shoulder. Clint isn’t sure that he’ll respond.

“Hulk was looking for a threat. He didn’t understand why none of you were reacting in defense. It confused him. And worried him. His worst fear is that the Avengers will turn on him. And then, you raised your bow.”

Clint’s face opens and falls. “How can you know all of this?” But the pieces fall into place and Clint realizes, “You  _ know _ him. You can  _ talk to _ him.”

Bruce reaches out with his plea. “You can’t tell anyone.”

It doesn’t make any sense. Why would Bruce want to keep this a secret? It’s the best news they’ve had in months.

“It could be nothing,” Bruce explains. “Sometimes…” He looks so unsure about revealing anymore. “It’s fuzzy. There are times that I can’t even reach him. I wonder if I’m just making it all up.”

“I can help. Ask you questions that only Hulk would know the answers to.”

“I don’t feel much like being an experiment right now.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. Just a minute ago he was ready to send Hulk into the fighting ring with Thor. “Well, if you want a break from experiments, you should visit-”

“I have a project to get back to.”

“Bruce, man. Don’t torture yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then, at least quit being a dick to Stark.”

**⁂  
** **MELINDA**

Bruce spends the evening's meditation in a state of distraction. It's obvious to Melinda as she observes and records Bruce's commentary.

"The sooner Thor and Hulk talk, the better," Bruce says, slowly bringing his full awareness to the room.

"Yeah. Thor… and Hulk."

"Tony wants to be friends, OK? So, I'm being his friend. I'm… giving him space."

"Did he ask for space?"

"Friends don't spend every second of every day together."

"You guys did," Melinda says offhandedly, as she taps the screen of the computer at her workstation, "from what I understand."

**⁂  
TONY**

Meals with Paul are quick, quiet. A few bites of whatever the chef sent down between glossing over code or trading notes on the new Iron Man armor. 

The new suit - Veronica, as Tony calls her - doesn't match Fury's design, not really. Not yet. With each addition Paul slaps onto the schematic, however, it gets closer. 

JARVIS announces Bruce's approach a full minute before there's a knock on the door of the workshop. 

Paul rubs his shoulder, almost making a show of it. "I should-"

"You don't have to go. Unless you feel like your arm is gonna fall off."

Paul's eyes go wide and Tony swears under his breath.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't… That was in poor taste, I.."

"It's fine. Your heart's a broken heap of metal and palladium. I don't expect it to radiate compassion."

The corner of Tony's mouth curls in a small grimace. The sting of his words burrows deep. He's felt broken for a long time. And he really needs to stop putting off this reactor repair, rebuild, remodel. 

Paul doesn't wait for a response before going for the door. He nods to Bruce as he opens it. "Good to see you, Dr. Banner."

"Am I interrupting?" Bruce asks, and Tony hates Bruce's rules. He hates that Bruce thinks of spaces in terms like 'yours' and 'mine'. He hates that the spaces they used to share - the main lab, the penthouse living room, the bedroom - have seemingly been allocated to Bruce's concept of 'yours'. Though Tony understands friends don’t typically share the latter.

Tony's not even sure Paul has answered Bruce's question when he sidesteps him to exit the 'shop.

Bruce offers a smile as he approaches the hologram glistening at the center of the room. A 50% scale model of the new armor. Tony doesn’t even try to hide the upgrades. Bruce will recognize them for what they are - now or eventually. Fury made sure of it. Paul, knowingly or in his ignorance, had done the same. And Tony… Tony had been too weak, too distracted to do much by way of stopping them. 

But a blueprint is just that. And Tony has no intention of building the massive suit, unless it’s clear that Hulk won’t be joining them in the next fight.

"This is, um, an interesting design. Dr. Ebersol mentioned it's going to be stronger than the last."

"Yep. Supposed to be. Bigger, badder, bulkier."  _ Hulk-ier.  _

"You're not happy,” Bruce says, and he’s so close that Tony could lean into his side and pretend he’s seeking out support. 

"It's not what I wanted.” The honesty comes easily. Tony has only ever wanted to be honest with Bruce. 

When Bruce turns, he looks Tony in the eyes and makes him promise, "It’ll be more durable than the last suit?"

"I can do that." With the thicker shell and increased power, it’d be a joke to assume Veronica will be anything but.

Bruce leans in. It's fleeting. He pulls back just as quickly. Tony thinks maybe Bruce was going to kiss him. He tries not to think about how much he wishes he would.

"How are you feeling?” Bruce asks, turning the hologram with new interest in the helmet. “You’re looking stronger, yourself."

"Thanks.” Tony tugs on his blazer and smoothes the lapels in a show of vanity. “I've been working out." And this, Tony thinks, is the first lie he’s ever told Bruce. The first lie that matters. Because, really, he feels like he’s hanging on by a thread. No one sees it. Except maybe Paul. Paul, who knows him least of anyone. 

Bruce, who’s supposed to know him so well, can’t even see he’s breaking.

“Tony?”

Tony wants to tell Bruce he needs things to go back to the way they were. He needs the scrape of a pen on newsprint crosswords in the morning and the soft punchy sounds of the crochet hook at night. He needs warm hands on his skin, soft lips on his neck, and peppermint on his tongue. He needs the firm trap of Bruce’s legs straddling him as he sits, as he kneels, as they…

“Tony.”

Bruce’s hands are firm on his arms. They should comfort Tony but the crease between Bruce’s eyes is taking on a severe angle and Tony wonders how long it’ll be before Bruce decides it’s better for both of them that he leave. 

Behind Tony’s ribs, his heart races. He rubs at the scars around the reactor. 

Pressure has been building in his chest since he and Paul discussed improvements to the armor’s hydraulics over lunch. It got worse when JARVIS announced Bruce’s approach. And now...

Tony tells himself to drop the train of thought. It isn’t doing him any good to be worked up over the suit. Bruce has finally seen it; he isn’t upset or even curious about its Hulk-sized dimensions. 

It has to be the lack of uninterrupted sleep taking its toll -- that, or the anxiety-provoking buzz of caffeine. Tony should know better than to drink a pot of coffee on his own. 

“Tony.” Bruce has said his name so many times Tony can’t keep track.

“Missed the way that sounds coming out of your mouth, Brucie. But don’t use ‘em up all at once.” Tony’s snark is all the defense he has in his struggle to ignore the ache in his chest. 

He dismisses another wave of anxiety as it rises and recedes. Tony’s heart seizes and he’s pretty sure the reactor stutters, but he’ll deal with that later. Right now, he needs to focus. His mind reels with thoughts of what they had shared, of what might have come out of their relationship had they been allotted more time, but Bruce stands before him completely motionless. His stillness is unsettling. 

Tony releases a forced breath, only mildly aware that he was holding it. He’s suddenly exhausted and on edge, his body and mind at war with each other. Tony wishes he could jumpstart the reactor and simultaneously put an end to the mass of anxiety. Both feel like they’re stealing his air. 

What he’s going through is nothing like the stress he’s seen Bruce under while struggling against a transformation. So, though Tony’s heart beats erratically and his reactor seems to vibrate, he wills the trembling in his hands to cease.

“Sit down.” 

It takes a small shake of his head to bring Tony back to the present. Bruce is helping him into a chair and lowering himself to his knees. And though the sight of Bruce on the ground in front of him feels wrong, it’s also the closest they’ve been in so long that Tony doesn’t want to give it up.

Tony’s words are only a whisper when he says, “Stay with me,” but they are words and getting them out is more than he thought he could manage. 

“Talk to me,” Bruce says.

He doesn’t have it in him to share his stream of consciousness. At his inability to fulfill Bruce’s request, the stranglehold on the center of Tony’s chest gives a twist.

Tony should tell Bruce his vision just doubled and crossed. But his words aren’t reaching his lips anymore. His eyes remain on Bruce’s hands, on their tight grip around his wrists. 

The touch may not mean anything to Bruce anymore, but Tony’s mind is floating. 

Bruce watches him with his scrutinizing gaze. “Are you OK?”

Tony struggles for a breath. The memory of Bruce’s hand lain over his throat is still sharp in Tony’s mind when he forces himself to flash Bruce a sarcastic approximation of his camera-ready smile. 

Bruce’s scrutiny spans an eternity until, finally, he shakes his head and stands. 

Despite the black spots blotting out his vision, Tony moves quickly to stand with him. It’s the blurred sight of Bruce in retreat that tips Tony over the edge into full panic. He won’t let Bruce leave again. 

Tony feels like his chest is about to collapse. He claws at the reactor as he stumbles, weak-kneed, to Bruce. 

“Tony.” Bruce’s voice sounds broken and far away. Then it’s close and booming and so much like the frightened gargantuan Tony had found in the goliath’s half-demolished apartment. 

Before falling into darkness, there is solid heat against Tony’s back and a pair of hazel eyes staring down at him. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony

**⁂  
TONY**

They’re seated on the floor of the communal living room, when Tony comes around. With his hand over his reactor, Tony feels its regular hum and ever-present, but low-level, vibration. 

Though it would be the first panic attack that’s resulted in a black out, Tony prays that a panic attack is all this was. 

Tony's irregular breathing starts up again, shallow and quick. Bruce takes him by the arms in an instant, urging him closer to the walls, turning him bodily so he is facing the floor-to-ceiling window display.

But the glass walls of the living room no longer show the city lights of the New York skyline in the dead of night. Instead, Tony finds himself blinking at a video of the sky over the ocean. Malibu. 

"What is this?” Tony asks. Typically, after a panic attack, Bruce would walk him through a breathing exercise, maybe turn on some music. Tony finds The Who rather soothing. But this video of the setting sun is something different.

"It’s part of an arrangement I have with JARVIS. He recorded them during dinner, plays them for me when I can't sleep. The sunsets help me relax enough to feel rested."

The truth about sunsets isn't news. Tony has understood Bruce's penchant for the setting sun since the early days of their shared evenings. For meditation, yoga, or dinner - sunset is Bruce's favorite time of day. With sunrise, naturally, a close second.

What works for calming Bruce seems to be working for Tony, too.

Following Bruce's patient example, Tony takes a deep lungful of air and releases it slowly. 

"So, J only recorded the sunsets during our dinners?" 

Bruce hums. "I like to hear your voice."

Tony feels more like himself as he knocks Bruce's shoulder with his own. "Couldn't get enough of me during the day, huh?" 

"Never." 

Tony can't say he isn't hoping for a kiss, but when he feel Bruce's lips pressed to the inside of his wrist instead of his cheek or lips, he's surprised to get even that much. They’re only friends. And if that’s all Bruce wants to be, then he should probably be even more cautious with displays of his affection.

Tony is relieved the Team had turned down the floors of Avengers Tower he’d designed for as long as they did. It gave him and Bruce time to figure out what worked in times like these. It gave them time to start to know each other. It gave them time to experiment in things personal and professional without having to explain themselves or ask for privacy. Really, it gave Tony time with Bruce and that was all he could ask for.

The pad of Bruce's thumb brushes across the veins of Tony's wrist and Tony wishes it were Bruce's lips again.

Tony's mind quiets, his nerves settle, and he remembers hazel eyes. He remembers Bruce's brush with transformation -- unless that had been a hallucination, part of a dream.

Regardless of whatever it was, Tony announces softly, “I think we’re done working for the night, Big Guy,” and he leans into Bruce’s side. 

Tony listens to the low, non-urgent beeps of Bruce's pulsometer and casts a surreptitious glance at his own watch. 

When Tony returns his attention to the wall in front of him, he squints at the scene. “That’s not this evening, is it?”

Bruce shakes his head, his chin brushing Tony’s shoulder. Tony keeps his eyes fixated on the sunset as Bruce rubs his hunched back. The fingers encircling his wrist, chin on his shoulder, and wide circles warming his back are more intimate than anything Bruce has given him since before the Avengers went down in The Fight. 

Regardless of how much Tony wants to rest against Bruce, Tony remains still. Acknowledgement of the contact risks Bruce pulling away and the touch is far too comforting to lose. 

Instead of reacting to it, Tony says, “Do you have a favorite?” 

Tony recalls why the sunset currently playing is a frontrunner in his own book. He remembers sitting close on the cooler-than-usual summer night. It was late June. _Before._ They'd shared a bottle of wine when the sun seemed to take its time settling over the horizon. The evening moved so slowly. The stars had taken their time appearing against the moonless black. 

Bruce nods. Again, his scruff catches on Tony's cotton tee. “This one is.”

At that, Tony twists in Bruce's light embrace. He lets his forehead drop to Bruce’s shoulder for a brief pause before lifting to watch his face. Bruce will surely pull away, but before giving him the chance, Tony asks, “Want to watch a while longer?”

Bruce shifts on the tile and Tony adds quickly, “Maybe from the couch?” 

By way of answer, Bruce braces himself with a hand on his knee and pushes himself to stand. 

Tony follows Bruce to the small computer stations set up along the far wall. A glance at the desk he’s nearly abandoned in favor of the workshop reminds Tony that he's not even halfway through Paul's notes or the work he’d set out to accomplish. He grabs a spare tablet on reflex and goes down to the adjacent lounge. 

On the wall display, the sun has disappeared beyond the horizon anyway; his and Bruce’s vitals are at baseline; J.A.R.V.I.S. will likely turn the screens off any minute.

**⁂**

In the recessed lounge, Tony sits at one end of the couch. He stretches one leg over the cushions and props his Stark Pad on the bended knee of his other. Bruce will join him soon; it’s a routine they’ve grown into. Lying in front of the fire, their minds lost in their work. Their legs tangled together, grounding themselves in each other. 

Tony would prefer his old spot -- it would even make it easier to collaborate on the projects Bruce has started to weigh in on -- but like this he can pretend to be OK with their return to the status of friends. And lab partners.

Tony’s toes curl in anticipation; Bruce has had curious, wandering feet of late. Prone to tickling the knobs of Tony’s ankles. Tony thinks that to have one of Bruce’s feet sneak between his thighs would be a welcome distraction tonight. Even if they are ‘just friends’.

Bruce sounds like he’s shutting down his computer when JARVIS says, “Mister Stark. Dr. Banner. Ms. Romanoff is requesting permission to enter the common room.”

“Send her away.” “Let her in.” Come Tony and Bruce’s simultaneous and automatic responses.

Tony’s jaw drops and a whimper escapes the back of his throat at Bruce’s willingness to accept company. 

“Hey.” Natasha presses her lips together in a hint of a smile as she enters through the lounge. Light from the fireplace casts dancing shadows over her face revealing the exhaustion she usually hides so well. “Thanks.”

Tony nods to her and Bruce settles onto the far end of the sofa. 

“Did you finish Shelley?” Bruce asks, laying his notebook over the armrest.

Natasha holds up a book. “Onto the Brontës.”

Tony glances between them wondering what he’s missed.

“Insomnia must run in the family,” Natasha says with a wry smile. She seems at home in the wingback chair, propping her feet on the ottoman and flicking on the lamp to her left. 

_It’s fine_ , Tony tells himself. Work is enough distraction and he’ll fall asleep in a bit. Bruce will be heading out for his meditation soon anyway; it’s nearly dawn.

JARVIS makes a sound like the AI is clearing his throat and announces, “Captain Rogers is-”

“Just… open the door.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose as Steve enters the way Nat had come. “You part of the nightmare crew, too?”

“Oh, um,” Steve takes a spot in the second accent chair, fiddling with the string of earbuds attached to his phone. “I didn’t know we had a name.”

Steve tucks an earbud into place, produces a drawing pad and pencil from his messenger bag, and crosses his ankle over his knee. “This is still OK, right?” 

The question is directed at Bruce who gives a familiar hum of approval. 

Suddenly, it’s not fine. It isn’t fair. For however long - maybe the whole month since The Fight, maybe even before Malibu - Bruce has had this buddy system with Steve and Nat and who knows who else. And all this time, Tony has had no idea. 

It’s just like Bruce’s contingency plan with the Hulk tranquilizer, just like whatever he’s working on with Dr. Lucenstern. 

Tony wants to ask questions, wants to make accusations, wants to cause a scene. But, for now, he chews his lip and forces himself to work.

He pours over his calculations for Barton’s armor. What the guy has now is garbage. And if Hawkeye is ever going to ride Hulk's shoulders to surf through a fight again, he needs armor that will actually protect him while under live fire.

All in all, Tony doesn’t mind the job - as long as the Avengers assemble, he’ll do what he can to make sure their equipment is up to snuff. Armoring Barton means fortifying the team. Plus, it’s hard to blame the guy for Hulk’s absence when Barton was voicing legitimate concerns. It isn’t his fault SHIELD took his words and ran with them. In truth, Bruce was the one who offered to curb Hulk if it made everyone more comfortable and Bruce is a hard man to refuse.

Even now, when Tony wants to call Bruce out on keeping secrets and siphoning off their time together to give company to Steve and Nat, Bruce’s will is Tony’s command.

Considering a new color scheme for Hawkeye’s armored uniform, Tony lays his head back against the armrest and sighs. 

Bruce shifts on the couch and there’s a tickle at the tips of Tony’s toes. Bruce’s new position brings his thigh flush with the bottom of Tony’s socked foot and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. 

Bruce doesn’t say anything as he continues his work. He uses a purple pen to follow his reading line by line and has spares poking out of his breast pocket. Bruce holds the tip of his tongue between his lips as he reviews the print journal he holds in his hands.

Tony is long past sorting out Hawkeye’s new specs when he musters up the courage to wiggle his toes up Bruce’s thigh, sneaking his foot into Bruce’s lap. 

He doesn’t look to see if Nat or Steve are watching. He knows better. A superspy and supersoldier - they’ve sensed his movement. They see. 

They don’t seem to care. So, Tony wonders, does Bruce?

Bruce’s response is to rub his furrowed brow and flip the page of the article he is immersed in. He makes no acknowledgement of Tony’s change in position. And to Tony’s delight, neither is there any indication that the contact is unwelcome.

It's not the same as preparing Bruce's food or kneeling at his feet. Not even close to standing at attention, feeling Bruce's hands correcting his posture or stroking his face. It's not Bruce's knuckles on his cheek or callused fingers against his wrists, but Tony’s feet are on Bruce’s lap in front of their friends and the world isn’t ending. 

Then Bruce’s hand finds its way onto Tony’s ankle and Tony closes his eyes as Bruce’s fingers slip under his pant leg. Curious, teasing fingertips graze the knob of Tony’s ankle and a shiver runs up Tony’s leg through his spine. It doesn’t stop until the nape of Tony’s neck is tingling and tiny sparks shine behind his eyes.

Bruce’s paperwork hides the slow, tantalizing touch from their company. Tony closes his eyes to keep silent. 

Steve clears his throat. It’s a low, quiet grunt but Tony’s breath catches in his chest. Bruce’s fingernails continue their dance over Tony’s skin - undisturbed, unembarrassed, unapologetic. If anything, the touch becomes more insistent. Tony suppresses a gasp.

“SI doesn’t do anything for Hanukkah?” Steve asks. “Christmas?”

It takes Tony an extra second to find his voice, but Steve doesn’t express concern. The soldier’s mind seems to be in a far off place. 

“Um, we don’t really-” _We don’t really do holidays_ , Tony almost admits. “Employees are free to celebrate with their traditions. My parents used to host a Winter Ball. Pepper was planning one before...” Tony makes a hand-wavy gesture that he's sure those in the room understand.

“Oh.” Steve nods and turns toward the fire.

Tony glances around the room and wonders if any of them have had a proper holiday in ages - if ever, in some cases.

“Might be nice, though,” Tony suggests, “starting a new tradition or two. Give ourselves a bit of normal when we can get it.”

Bruce gives Tony’s ankle an encouraging squeeze. Steve relaxes enough that his expression takes on an appreciative air. Even Natasha appears inconspicuously pleased. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melinda  
> Tony

**⁂  
** **MELINDA**

Banner has expressed interest in the return of Thor. The man, who claims residence offworld and status as the god of Norse legend, should be returning from his alleged home planet (Asgard) within the week. Banner continues to prepare for Thor to face Hulk. 

Banner and Stark have spent countless hours working together. When the two aren’t working on the SHIELD-commissioned upgrades to the Avengers’ armor and weapons, they are double and triple checking the sturdiness of the training room. 

Agreeing to work alongside Stark and Ebersol has taken up much of the time Banner had otherwise committed to his private research. However, having control of the lethality and methods given to SHIELD to subdue Hulk does seem to be the best option. Having this control calms Bruce (host). The difference in his baseline is supported by the data self-reported and recorded during observed meditations. 

Ms. Pepper Potts moves forward with her party planning. The Winter Gala has been scheduled for the night of the winter solstice. Potts does not appear to be a religious person or a practitioner of any type of veneration or adoration of the moon. This seems to be an arbitrary date -- the lunar cycle being of no significance. 

Captain Steve Rogers appears to have offered his assistance in her efforts. His enthusiasm for the event has proven interesting. He chooses to continue living at Stark Tower despite the lack of necessity. It has been mentioned, by Stark, that Rogers rather recently purchased a home elsewhere in the New York metropolitan area.

Agent Romanoff similarly resides in Stark Tower regardless of residence elsewhere. Romanoff continues to present as cold, despite the attempts made by others to engage in cautious merriment as the holiday season descends upon the city. Romanoff presented as particularly unapproachable during the days leading up to All Hallow’s Eve. So agitated was she by the holiday, Romanoff did not attend the festivities organized by Agent Barton and Captain Rogers. Childish as the event was, the evening had been rather enjoyable. And the following day’s data on Bruce/Hulk (host/alter) had proved quite interesting.

**⁂**

“You don’t have to do that.” The deep sound of Natasha’s voice draws Melinda’s eyes up from her tablet.

“Do what?” 

“Study us.” Natasha leans forward, one elbow on the table. “You can be present. Engage.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Engaging?” Melinda has been observing Natasha for the greater part of the hour. The superspy hasn’t moved from her spot at the dinner table; the dishes have long since been cleared. 

Natasha sits back in her chair and kicks up her feet on the seat beside her. “I like the quiet over here. And from this spot I have a clear view of this room and the next.”

Melinda looks over her shoulder. Though the game room and dining area share an open floor plan, she can see the clear division between the two, starting at the tables for pool and table tennis, and following down to the giant u-shaped sofa and the widescreen television. 

“I like the quiet, too. I have work to do.” With Banner’s attention directed elsewhere, the majority of responsibility for compiling and analyzing their host/alter data has fallen into her lap. And although the persevering plan is to separate Hulk from Bruce to improve the clarity of their communication, the research is resulting in progress integrating the two instead of separating them.

“I know what you’re up to.”

Melinda squints. Unless Banner shared with her specifically, Melinda doesn’t think it’s possible for Natasha to guess the truth of their research.

“SHIELD wants you to get rid of Hulk. For good.”

Melinda straightens up at that. No one has approached her about such a plan, not even Bruce himself (although she suspects the desire to be his own person is enough that he may - at one time or another - experience transient fantasies of a singular life). On the contrary, Banner has reported that the meditations and exercises he and Melinda devised have granted him some access into Hulk’s mind and a capacity for compassion toward his alter. 

But if the thought is in Natasha’s mind, perhaps this is a particular interest of SHIELD’s. “Aren’t SHIELD the ones who recruited Hulk in the first place? Why would they want me to get rid of him?”

Natasha’s eyes darken before she blinks and turns away. “None of us are indispensable.”

**⁂  
TONY**

“What’s with the duffle bags?” Tony asks as he takes stock of the luggage littering the lounge. “Did Stevie plan a slumber party? Don't tell me my invite got lost in the mail again.”

Sitting on a bag beside the fireplace, admiring the clutch of multicolored flint corn hanging on the mantle, Clint gives a lopsided grin. “Dinner last night was fun. I mean, the lasagna was burnt and the whole idea of Thanksgiving gives me the heebie-jeebies, but… Thor and I figure we’ll stick around for a bit. Enjoy the work you’ve put in here.”

_Thor’s back._ Tony glances around the room to see where the linebacker-sized thunder god is hiding. He finds he’s taken a knee at the coffee table to rummage through the cornucopia. 

“We have snacks akin to these on Asgard,” Thor announces, poking at the decorative gourds before taking a hearty bite of a munchkin. 

Tony grimaces. “I… think those are plastic.”

But when Thor’s smile reveals pumpkin strings caught in his teeth, Tony admits he was wrong. 

Even Clint looks disgusted. “Maybe cook the next one, man.”

Doing his best to ignore the smell of raw squash, Tony turns his attention back to the bags at his feet. “Funny, I thought I remembered you all turning down my offers of individual living spaces - entire floors of the Tower, even. And now look at us,” Tony says with barely concealed chagrin, “the gang’s all here.”

How is he supposed to sort out whatever’s going on between himself and Bruce with such a wide audience?

Clint’s grin is even toothier than Thor’s. “How would Santa know where to bring our presents if we’re living in our super secret hideaways? Doesn’t look like he’s ever skipped over Stark Tower.”

“Right. Yeah.” It’s the longest conversation he’s had with Clint since before the archer made that crack about Tony’s tech turning on him SkyNet style. “Well, this floor is mine, so-”

“Um, don’t you mean Bruce’s?”

Tony pulls up short. “No, there was a clerical error and lab equipment was sent here. Everything that resides on this floor belongs to me.”

“Bruce lives on this floor,” Clint insists. “I’ve seen his apartment. His rooms are right down the hall.”

“Son of Stark, are you making the implication that you have acquired possession of Brother Banner?”

Tony notices Bruce walking into the lounge, but he’s already committed to his game. “I’m staking my claim, sure. What, you want to fight me for him like on Wild Kingdom?” Tony’s glare passes from Thor to Clint. 

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “Let it go, Tony. This thing between you and Clint ends here." Then, leaning in and speaking through one side of his mouth, he mutters an aside, "And don’t you think comments about you owning Bruce are making him uncomfortable?”

“Steve,” Clint admonishes as he plucks blue kernels from the cobb, “Tony and Bruce have been, like, dating for a year or something. The doc signed up for this shit; he can take it.”

Surely it's Tony's imagination, the look Bruce levels on him in front of the team - the look that says Bruce wants to remind Tony who owns whom. 

Knowing what it’s like to belong to Bruce and being the subject of Bruce’s undisguised interest while in the presence of their friends sends a thrill up Tony’s spine. But it’s all in Tony’s head. Because they don’t belong to each other anymore.

“You doing alright?” Bruce checks in with him as the rest of the room falls into silence.

Tony face flushes as he meets Bruce’s eyes and gives a nod.

Bruce stalks over to Tony, grabs his neck just long enough to offer a squeeze and a smile. “I’m going to bed.” 

Tony thinks it might have been an invitation and a promise, had they been at a different place in their lives. 

Then, Bruce walks out with a click of his tongue.

It’s Clint who speaks first, breaking the quiet spell that has settled over the room. “See, Rogers? You owe me fifty bucks.”

As Steve fishes the cash out of his wallet, he mutters to Tony under his breath. “I thought it was supposed to be a secret.”

Tony sputters and shrugs, his eyes shifting toward the way in which Bruce had left. He thought they were supposed to be just friends.

**⁂**

The conference room is quiet. Tony can feel eyes on him, can feel someone tapping the toe of his shoe in some kind of bullshit attempt at Morse code. Tony gives Cap a bit of side-eye to see if there’s any clue of him being the toe-tapping twit, but Steve’s eyes are glued on Bruce. Everyone’s eyes are. But Bruce - Bruce has his eyes on Tony. 

Tony wants to hold his gaze, but a yawn steals his focus and after rubbing his eyes free of their tears of exhaustion, he sees Bruce’s attention has turned toward the SHIELD director at the end of the room. 

Natasha sits beside Bruce - behind him, more accurately, with the way they are oriented toward Fury, Coulson, and Hill at the head of the long table. Tony thinks she would reach out to Bruce in solidarity, in an attempt to comfort, if she weren’t so pissed off. 

Tony rubs his eyes again. They may be watering from lack of sleep, but the tension headache that’s been building is certainly due to his frustration and anger. His blood pressure is high and rising.

And that’s it, Tony thinks, the whole room is seething. But no one says a thing. No one wants to add to the anger Bruce already harbors day in and day out. No one wants to incite his rage and trigger an outburst that could be misconstrued as a loss of control - of himself, of Hulk. 

Tony feels gratitude toward the Team for keeping their feelings under wraps. That is, until Clint opens his goddamn mouth.

“This sounds like bullshit,” Clint snaps. “You want us to go off-world without Hulk?”

Coulson responds without emotion. “We think it’s best to keep someone here, to defend Earth, in case there’s another attack on home soil.”

Clint slows his speech in the most patronizing manner Tony has ever heard from him. “That’s. Bullshit.”

But Clint, thank the powers of all that is sacred between these walls, says nothing of Bruce’s plan to facilitate a meeting between Hulk and Thor.

“If you’re set on this, then someone should stay behind with Dr. Banner,” Natasha suggests. “That is, if you’re truly worried about an attack on Earth.”

Coulson nods.

“You’ll need someone Hulk knows,” Natasha continues, “someone he trusts to fight alongside him. He works best when he has someone to help him focus his attacks.”

“You volunteering, Agent?” Fury asks.

“Actually, I had someone else in mind, sir.” Natasha nods toward Tony across the table. “Iron Man and Hulk make one helluva team.”

“You’re suggesting I send the Avengers to an enemy space station without Tony Stark? Not happening.”

“Sir?”

Fury steps forward, taking charge of the meeting before it slips completely out of SHIELD’s control. “These bastards are fighting with machines we don’t understand. Iron Man is our only hope at taking these guys down from the inside. And destroying that technology for good.”

Clint scoffs. “Sounds like you don’t need the Hulk _here_ ; you need Dr. Banner with us, _out there_.”

“Need I remind you of the events of July 4th?”

Clint stands in defiance. “And do we need to remind you that we handled it?”

“I’ll stay,” Bruce says. His voice is quiet and even. 

The foot moving against Tony’s nudges him and Tony resists the urge to kick the person’s shin. What do they want him to say, anyway? Bruce has chosen to stay. Bruce is choosing to let Tony go on another mission - a mission _off-world_ \- without him.

“This decision wasn’t made lightly,” Maria Hill reiterates from earlier in the meeting. “We need to keep Hulk out of HYDRA’s reach. We can’t have them spreading across the galaxy. The mission is to destroy the HYDRA space station and come home.” 

Tony wonders how much keeping Bruce in New York is about HYDRA and how much is about SHIELD’s distrust of Hulk.

The prospect of being hung out to dry without the Big Guy as back-up terrifies Tony. It’s not the first time a mission hasn’t called for Hulk, but with their new history, it’s the first time Tony worries he won’t be able to come when they need him. And now SHIELD has weapons that could be effective against Hulk; they can stop him if he tries to come when he’s not been granted permission. 

There’s another nudge to Tony’s foot, the toe of a shoe scraping Tony’s ankle. Cap -- it must be Cap. Tony shoots a glare at him and Steve returns it with a sharp look. 

"Can we wrap this up?” Tony interrupts the discussions that have continued beyond his attention. “It feels like a high school drumline is practicing against my skull. I'd really love it if someone would tell us when to report and send us on our merry way."

“I shall remain to defend Earth with Dr. Banner,” Thor says to the room. Tony assumes this is a response to the ongoing conversation. “If that is agreeable to all. I have faith in Iron Man, Captain America, Hawkeye and Black Widow. Their mission aboard the space station will be met with victory. Dr. Banner and I - and Hulk - will attend to our duties on Earth until their return.”

Tony can’t meet Thor’s eyes. In front of a thin shadow of gratitude boldly stands his anxiety. It lives and breathes and threatens to strangle the life from Tony. Bruce is watching him from across the table - so far away. Tony fights the urge to walk out of the room. 

Steve’s foot rests upon his toe, holding him in place but not really. It’s grounding and irritating, and Tony tries to pretend it’s Bruce but flinches away once Fury calls the meeting to close.

Tony takes long strides down the hallway, filling his lungs and still feeling like he’s gasping for air. Thor and Clint walk past, caught up in their own banter. Natasha’s walk is slower, but she doesn’t stop. Then, there’s a warm hand on Tony’s arm and in spite of his initial instinct to yank his arm away, Tony turns. 

Bruce speaks Tony’s name softly and Tony melts into the touch. He allows himself to be pulled aside and ignores the little smile and nod Steve gives Bruce as he walks past. 

"I'm sorry,” Tony says as Bruce drops his hold on him. He misses the touch as soon as it's gone. “Guess I got a little snippy in there.” 

Bruce’s hands were warmer than Tony remembers. Bruce is always warm, but maybe he heats up when he's angry. Tony doesn't remember the data showing that back when… Well, back when Tony had made it his business to keep track of things like that. Perhaps, despite the flat affect and calm demeanor, Bruce is just as upset by Fury's orders as the rest of them. 

Tony lays a hand on Bruce’s chest. It’s hot. It feels amazing under Tony’s cool and aching fingers. SHIELD keeps their offices so cold. “I'm fine,” Tony insists, changing his touch to a pat in an attempt to keep things casual. “I just- SHIELD are a bunch of assholes. And I still can't figure out why Steve was kicking me under the table."

"That wasn't Steve."

"That was…?"

Bruce’s hands twist in front of him, like he's unsure what to do with them. Then Bruce stuffs them into his pockets with a sigh. "I wasn't trying to kick you. I was... I wanted to give you something, so you'd know I was there."

Tony looks at him with a crooked eyebrow. He had known Bruce was _there_. He had needed Bruce _next_ _to_ him.

Bruce nods like he can read Tony's thoughts and Tony's starting to get it; Bruce was trying to be as close as he could be.

"If I knew it was you-"

"You could have kicked me back."

Tony scowls, "I'm not a child."

Bruce combs his fingers through Tony's hair and takes a fistful in his grasp. Holding Tony in place, Bruce purrs, "No, you're not."

To be held like this feels like an impossible dream. Tony thinks he must be imagining the tug on his hair. 

"You're not coming on the mission," Tony dismays. As if to test reality, he leans into the warmth of Bruce's hand. But it's already gone.

"I'll be here," Bruce assures Tony. In a whisper, he adds, "I'll be there if I'm needed."

Tony wants to pull him into an empty corridor, tell him 'I always need you'. He wants to capture Bruce's mouth in a kiss, drown any rebuttal with their moans. But he stands still. 

Bruce must read his silence as disbelief. "Je l’promets," he whispers in earnest.

Tony gives a hum of understanding, only to have it cut off by his own yawn.

"You didn't sleep." Bruce steps closer, zeroing in on Tony's eyes. Bruce's hands are on his shoulders again, there's no mistaking the weight of them, or their heat as they slide down to his elbows and up his arms again. "Nat and Steve barely…" With a shake of his head, Bruce implores, "Tell me you're gonna be alright. Dis-moi."

"Oui," Tony answers, and the language spoken between friends feels like heartache. After a hard swallow, Tony tries again. "I will. We- we've got this." He tries to hide his exhaustion with a smile and yawns again. The laugh that follows is small and self-deprecating. "I've fought through worse.”

“Tony.”

Tony doesn’t want to think about what another mission will be like without having Hulk at his back. “Keep dinner warm for me," Tony says with a wink. His humor is all he has by which to hold himself up.

He thinks of all the trouble he used to get into when he would arrive late for his 'appointments' with Bruce. He has to remind himself that that isn't to what Bruce is referring when the response he receives is, "Don't keep me waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Je l’promets. (I promise.)  
> Dis-moi. (Tell me.)  
> Oui. (Yes.)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> (explicit)

**⁂  
TONY**

Natasha stands with Tony in the cargo hold as they take off. 

“He’ll do his job, as always,” she says without needing to specify who 'he' is. Tony has been staring at Clint since they stepped onto the Quinjet, but not for the reason Natasha assumes. “Regardless of your scowls and passive aggressive bullshit," she continues, "I know you'll do the job, too. He likes the new armor, by the way. Digs the purple.”

“It’s to help him camouflage in shadow,” Tony says, flexing his fingers in the suit. He needs to oil the joints. He thinks he just did a full maintenance on this model, but maybe he’s thinking of Veronica’s gauntlets. Either way, the fingers are a bit stiff. He files the thought away; it's nothing to worry about. He certainly doesn’t want to start thinking about the pieces of the SHIELD commissioned armor he and Paul have been building under protest.

“Camouflage,” Natasha repeats, “right. So it had nothing to do with making him look like a giant bruise.”

Tony doesn’t hold back his smirk. The bruise thing had been a happy coincidence. But one that doesn’t matter so much now. 

Clint is still grumbling to anyone who will listen about the injustices of leaving Hulk behind. It’s nice having someone give voice to your thoughts every now and then.

“Bruce is OK,” Natasha insists.

Tony’s smile drops. “And everyone can feel safe now that you’re all armed against the Big Bad Brute.”

“We aren’t scared of Hulk; it’s a precaution. And Blonsky, Abomination, is still out there, somewhere. With Loki. We have to figure out ways to weaken one of them, at least.”

“You went behind my back to SHIELD-”

“You would have tried to stop us.”

“Damn straight!” Tony says through his teeth. “Clint  _ used _ that stuff when he didn’t need to. Hulk wasn’t out of control, he was willing to listen to reason.”

“He’d torn through two floors of the Tower,” Natasha reminds Tony. “When Bruce developed the serum, he didn’t know Hulk the way he does now.”

“The way he-” Tony’s thoughts falter and his words are lost in transit from his brain to his throat. 

Natasha quiets at that and exchanges a look with Clint. These two are superspies. When they want to be sneaky, it’s an artform. Stealth is their default.

Tony guesses he’s supposed to see it. 

**⁂**

The mission itself isn’t particularly difficult. But the space station is tiny, smaller even than SHIELD’s intel had led them to believe. They all agree to keep the reality of low ceilings and cramped spaces to themselves. There’s no benefit to them in letting SHIELD get big heads for ‘being right’ about keeping Hulk on house arrest.

The team clambors into the Quinjet, mental exhaustion weighing on them more heavily than the physical kind. 

Trying to navigate the maze of identical hallways and follow Tony’s instructions to reprogram the computer systems had been a new kind of challenge for Steve; it was Clint’s least favorite kind of work; and, though Natasha had the least difficulty understanding what was expected of her, even she let out a held breath when it was over. 

Tony slumps onto a bench in the cargo hold and tips his head back against the wall of the aircraft. “Homeward bound, Nat.”

“Gladly.” Natasha takes the pilot’s chair to navigate their re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere and their return to Avengers Tower. 

Behind his faceplate, Tony squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth, and asks JARVIS to pull up the crash log and run a full diagnostic. 

There was a moment during the mission, the briefest second, when J had gone offline. Tony has been telling himself he blinked. He’s been telling himself it was anxiety or exhaustion. It was a hallucination. 

But for a split second, Tony  _ knew  _ he’d float off into space, he’d be dragged toward Earth’s gravity, he’d fall into the atmosphere, he’d drop out of the air and there’d be no one to catch him. 

Then, the second passed and JARVIS came back online like nothing was amiss. 

Of course JARVIS’s report shows the absence of any blip. Like Tony thought, it was all in his head. Which makes his desperation for something real even more profound.

**⁂**

The Quinjet touches down on the Avengers Tower landing pad and Tony is grateful most of the preliminary summaries were discussed during the ride home. JARVIS has already compiled relevant information for SHIELD and a separate file for Tony to deal with later. 

Now, Tony needs to be here - home - on safe ground. He needs something solid, firm, unyielding.

Tony steps off the aircraft and pays no attention to the grey and darkening sky behind him. He leaves the faded sunset at his back and walks into the lab. 

Bruce is there, glasses perched atop his nose and smudged a bit with something Tony doesn’t recognize from the tabletop between them. Tony doesn’t stop his approach when he sees Bruce. He doesn’t stop when Bruce sees him. 

Tony is around the table and taking Bruce’s face in his hands, bringing their lips together before either of them have said a word. The kiss is hard and tight, not at all the lingering taste of Bruce Tony wants to savor.

Tony steps back, drops his hands and his eyes, and realizes what he’s done. “I know I’m not supposed to take. But I need- No, I want- It’s easier to ask for forgiveness sometimes -- easier than asking for permission.”

“Non, non, non, mon cœur.” Bruce strokes Tony's face through his whispers. “Permission.” Bruce wears the hint of a frown as Tony sputters an incoherent apology. “You have my forgiveness, always. But, here,” Bruce cradles Tony’s head in his hands, “you ask permission. Did you think I would deny you?”

Tony has to hold onto Bruce for support. The weight of the question plus the exhaustion of the mission suddenly feel unbearably heavy. “Bruce, I-”

Bruce’s arms are around him, his lips are against his forehead -- hot. There’s a second kiss to Tony’s nose before Bruce’s lips land on Tony’s waiting mouth. Tony hums into the kiss until they part enough to breathe.

It takes Tony a minute to remember how. When he takes that first breath, however, it’s air scented with Bruce’s cologne and peppermint that fills his lungs. There’s nowhere Tony wants to be but  _ closer.  _

So much of their time together these days has echoed the relationship they had before The Fourth. That tenuous, confusing dance between friendship and more. Tony wishes it weren’t so easy to fall into Bruce’s arms again. He wishes he didn’t need Bruce, want Bruce, more than Bruce wants him.

“Allez. Come with me,” Bruce rumbles. His hold on the nape of Tony’s neck is firm. It feels like being home. 

Tony nods against Bruce’s forehead and allows himself to be led toward the stairs. 

Outside the master bathroom, Bruce asks, “Do you remember how to stand for inspection?” and Tony’s stomach flips. 

Tony thinks he should be telling Bruce to slow down, to talk this out. But despite his uncertainty of where they stand, Tony feels a thrill. Despite his exhaustion, goosebumps rise on Tony’s skin. “Oui.”

“Good boy.” Bruce stands Tony at the doorway that connects the bedroom to the bathroom and positions himself near the bed. He unbuttons his shirt before touching Tony further. The white dress shirt hangs open, exposing his bare skin. Bruce unbuckles his belt next and leaves that hanging as well.

Then, he steps in front of Tony and says, “Undress me.”

Following Bruce’s example, Tony’s movements are slow. He slides Bruce’s shirt off and drapes it over the back of a chair. He stands close to slide the belt from each loop before coiling it and setting it onto the chair as well. To unbutton Bruce’s trousers, Tony sinks low. 

By the time Tony is removing Bruce’s underwear, Bruce is half-hard, his cock straining against his underwear in front of Tony’s face. No matter how strong Tony’s desire is to take Bruce’s cock into his mouth, he knows he doesn’t have permission to touch.

Tony forces his attention lower, and lastly strips Bruce of his socks.

With two fingers under Tony’s chin, Bruce encourages him to his feet. “My turn,” he whispers.

Bruce’s hands slide expertly beneath the fitted fabric of Tony’s under armor, pushing his shirt up and trapping his arms over his head just long enough to steal a kiss deep enough to have Tony's hips arching toward Bruce’s.

Tony’s cock strains against the tight fabric of his pants as he grinds against Bruce’s thigh. 

Bruce moves away to toss the shirt into the laundry basket and Tony has to catch himself to keep from stumbling. 

Tony’s pants are next. Then his boxers. 

Bruce’s slow hands come close to but never touch Tony in the place he wants them most. 

Tony’s breath hitches and he holds himself back from reaching out to Bruce and begging for more.

“Now,” Bruce says, when the last of Tony’s clothes has been removed, “ready yourself for inspection.”

Tony takes the position immediately: hands behind his neck, legs wide, eyes on Bruce. 

“Magnifique, mon cher.” Bruce inspects with not only his eyes, but his touch. The flat of his palms smooth over the lines of Tony’s body as he surveys every inch of skin. 

“There wasn’t much fighting,” Tony offers, assuring Bruce he’s uninjured and explaining the lack of bruises. 

“Hmm.” Bruce continues his careful scrutiny.

“I was holed up in the control room with Clint, for the most part. The others had our backs. Thor was right about us working well together.” Tony releases a low hiss as Bruce’s hands glide up his inner thighs.

“Do you want to talk about the mission?”

Tony shakes his head. “No. I thought you'd want to know.”

“Hmm.” Bruce’s hands cup Tony’s ass then travel the curve of his back toward his shoulders. “Get into the shower.”

Bruce bathes Tony with delicate hands, his touch reverent and curious, as if experiencing Tony for the first time with every touch. 

As Bruce runs a towel over Tony’s hair, he leans in, chest against Tony’s back, and whispers, “I’d like you on the bed: dog style, knees wide, on your elbows, forehead to the mattress. Do you remember the position?”

Tony swallows hard, throat dry. “I remember."

**⁂**

With his ass in the air, Tony shivers in anticipation, but he doesn’t have to wait long. Bruce is behind him, speaking soft words of praise and walking his fingers over Tony’s calves. His fingers continue their hike up the twitching muscles of Tony’s thighs to his hips. Then Bruce's nails drag over his skin - too firm to tickle, too light to cause any pain.

Bruce cups Tony’s ass, much like he had during the inspection except this time he pulls Tony’s cheeks apart. Bruce’s breath is warm, his lips warmer, but his tongue is hot. Tony gasps at the sensation of Bruce’s attention. 

Bruce licks hot stripes and breathes over the sensitive skin. Tony shudders and groans into the comforter. With each sound of pleasure Tony offers, Bruce mumbles a word of thanks and praise. 

Bruce allows Tony a minute rock of his hips, as long as his cock remains untouched, and Tony is grateful for the torture. His erection sways beneath him, heavy and aching. Tony doesn’t realize he’s giving voice to the need for release until Bruce’s hand wraps around his cock.

“Is this what you need?” Bruce’s long strokes are too loose to do anything but tease.

Tony whimpers and thrusts. 

Bruce lets him do the work of building himself toward orgasm.

Tony is eager and pent up and working himself into a frenzy. He’s desperate for friction and the stretch of Bruce’s fingers or something, anything, from the drawer he keeps well-stocked at his bedside. 

“Bruce,” Tony gasps. “More.”

Bruce leans over Tony’s back to speak at his ear. His voice is a whispered moan, as if he’s the one agonizing through the insincere promise of release that has Tony’s toes curling and his back arching in impatience. “I wish I could, my love. But you had me waiting so long. Dinner went cold. This is only fair.” Bruce strokes Tony’s leaking cock in earnest, drawing out rasping groans from his partner. 

“I’m close.”

Bruce kisses and nibbles his way down Tony’s back, taking special interest in the side of Tony’s waist where Tony squirms under the bruising attention of his mouth. 

“Bruce-” Tony pants. “Bruce, I-”

Bruce ducks down to lick and prod at Tony before their fun shifts gears. 

Tony’s breathing is ragged; his muscles tense up. He chants Bruce’s name. “I’m gonna-”

Bruce’s palm brushes the head of Tony’s cock, smothering its pleasure in a rough smear before he squeezes the base.

Tony sputters and whines and thrusts as Bruce’s teeth graze the roundness of his ass. Though he doesn’t orgasm, his vision whites out and his whole body trembles. His fingers and toes seize and lock and tingle.

“Good boy,” Bruce says as he tightens his grip. 

Tony pulls at the comforter beneath him and pushes his face into the mattress to cry out in frustration. 

When Tony starts to relax, Bruce takes him by the waist and hauls him gently down to the pillows for a cuddle. 

“You’re beautiful,” Bruce whispers against Tony’s neck. “My darling,” he says. The endearment is muffled by the curve of Tony’s jaw and seemingly attached to nothing else - just a reminder to Tony that he once belonged to Bruce. An endearment that might mean he could belong to Bruce once more.

Bruce’s fingers in Tony’s hair offer a soothing scratch and massage. Tony indulges in them a while, snuggles closer, then brings Bruce’s hand down between them and lays a kiss to his palm.

He looks into Bruce’s eyes with adoration and kisses his palm again before allowing Bruce to cup his cheek and draw their faces together. Their kiss begins as a delicate peck and grows into something hungry and unhinged. 

Bruce rocks against Tony, and the low sounds rising from his throat are thrilling and confusing. Bruce had said he was worried about letting go during their time together, but when he pulls Tony on top of him and drags Tony’s hips over his in a rough rhythm, Tony can’t keep his eyes closed any longer. 

“Bruce,” Tony mumbles, his lips pushed hard against Bruce’s. “Baby, wait. Are you ok?”

“Mhmm.” Bruce’s eyes remain shut as he bucks under Tony’s weight. He holds Tony in place with one hand at his hip. His other hand is secure behind Tony’s head. 

Tony tries to pull back, but Bruce is stronger than he looks. Too strong. “Bruce.” Though he isn’t able to sit up, Tony manages to work his head to Bruce’s shoulder. 

He sees, and his inhale is sharp. “Green.”

Bruce grinds against Tony with greater enthusiasm.

“No, baby. Yellow. Yellow,” Tony says, signaling to Bruce that he’s OK but they need to slow down. 

Bruce makes a sound that’s too close to a growl for Tony’s ease of mind, but Bruce lets Tony slide onto the mattress beside him. 

Tony pets Bruce’s chest, over his heart, where the olive hue is deepest. “You’re green.”

Bruce scrambles to sit against the headboard and pulls his knees in. He brings his hands up immediately to cover his chest. “You should go.”

“No way.” Tony takes hold of one of Bruce’s ankles and scoots closer. “No, I’m staying right here.”

“I went too far, Tony.”

“So what?” Tony pries Bruce’s hands away from his chest, uncrossing his arms so he can better watch the green fade. “You’re fine.”

“I need some time to… I need some time to myself.”

Tony’s eyes go wide. “Now?” They agreed on taking to their separate spaces as part of the extended aftercare, but that isn’t supposed to go into effect until after they take care of each other emotionally and physically. Or maybe that doesn’t apply anymore. Maybe, as friends - like it was with Steve - things need new definitions.

“Just a few minutes," Bruce clarifies. "An hour.”

“Bruce. You don’t need to do this.” Tony hugs Bruce’s shins, not wanting to let go -- making sure Bruce knows he doesn’t want to let go.

Bruce’s head falls back against the headboard and he sighs. “Betty, Tony. Remember?”

And at that, Tony releases him. He remembers Betty Ross. He remembers how fiercely Bruce had loved her and tried to protect her. He knows what it means when Bruce invokes her name. Bruce wouldn’t say it if he wasn’t serious about this.

Tony won’t rush him. “Let me know when you’re ready for company?”

Bruce nods. “Thank you.”

Tony dresses quickly and heads to the lab. He needs a distraction. In light of Bruce’s rejection, he can barely breathe. His hands shake as he reaches out for the button to call the lift.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce  
> Melinda  
> Natasha  
> Tony

**⁂  
BRUCE**

Admonishing the beast for its amorous feelings and affection for Tony would be wrong. It isn’t something Bruce can bring himself to do. But for getting in the way, for trying to stop Bruce from engaging in one private moment of love-making. For turning that moment into a fight for control of his own body, Bruce doesn’t understand. Bruce doesn’t understand why Hulk would object. 

Sitting alone in Tony’s bedroom, Bruce places a hand over his heart and closes his eyes. Words like ‘can’t’ and ‘don’t’ are at the forefront of his mind. But then, so are condolences and expressions of comfort. Bruce watches Hulk’s figure come into view. 

What was, at first, a confusing, nebulous cloud of emotions, has taken on form. Bruce can see the curve of Hulk’s frown, the lines of his furrowed brow, the slump of his shoulders as he curls in on himself in response to rejection. 

At Bruce’s attempts to console, Hulk turns away in a huff. It’s not Tony’s rejection he mourns, for there had been none. It’s Bruce’s. 

Bruce offers an “I’m sorry” and the goliath’s muscled back trembles. It pains Bruce to see Hulk this way. Especially when it felt like they were making progress toward understanding each other. Bruce, however, hadn’t anticipated Hulk felt - or had the capacity to feel - such affection for Tony. Bruce hadn’t anticipated Hulk would get caught up in his own desires and pleasures. He hadn’t anticipated Hulk’s aversion to sex.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says again. But the more apologies Bruce sends inward, the more agitated Hulk becomes. 

Hulk barks out a sound of disbelief. He works himself up until he is pacing and Bruce makes the decision to pull his own consciousness away.

⁂

The lab Bruce shares with Melinda looks as it always does. Rather tidy in most places, with Melinda’s small corner overrun with overturned flasks and beakers left to dry and never returned to their shelves. 

Bruce allows her this bit of mess. As long as she keeps it quartered to the far side of her desk, he doesn’t complain. But he needs something to do to calm his mind, to take Hulk off his mind for just a little while. And while organizing the glassware is a simple task, Bruce thinks it could be mindless enough, hypnotizing enough, to do the trick.

He’s just about halfway through clearing off Melinda’s desk when he notices test tubes that shouldn’t be there. Test tubes that should be locked away. That shouldn’t be empty.

Bruce’s white-knuckled grip cracks the glass in a web of splinters before it shatters in his palm.

The door to the lab opens behind him with a _beep_ and Bruce rounds on his assistant with a bloody fist and a snarl. “What happened to the serum?”

Melinda stalks forward, tablet hugged to her chest. Her expression betrays no fear. She has never shown Bruce any fear. “What are you talking about?”

Since synthesizing the gamma suppressant and tranquilizer for Hulk, Bruce has kept several versions in the lab for safe keeping, for further testing. Melinda had encouraged him to destroy the samples. 

_“No good can come of it,” she had said, over and over again._ But Bruce was reluctant to get rid of them. 

Despite his wish that his teammates should have made other attempts to subdue Hulk on The Fourth, he sees the benefit of the serums. When kept in the right hands, used for the right reasons. Despite the ‘failures’ of the SHIELD-developed serums used against Abomination, Bruce believes his own formulas can be used on gamma-irradiated enemies to defeat rather than enrage them. 

His eyes turn to the newest hire. Had she destroyed the samples when Bruce wouldn’t do it himself? It doesn’t seem to fit her profile; she has done so much to help the team and Bruce. 

Even when Bruce’s private goal had been to eliminate The Other Guy, her focus has always been on assisting Bruce to find himself. Then, when circumstances changed, when understanding between man and monster grew, she helped Bruce integrate himself with Hulk, accept who he is, and supported him through it all. 

Glass digging into his palm, Bruce meets her in the center of the lab. He accuses her of taking his agency, his choice. Her actions - if she’s done this - strip him of just as much power over himself, over Hulk, as the transformations have. “How could you?”

“Why would I?” Melinda tries to get Bruce to see reason, tries to remind him that she would never do this to him.

Unable to look her in the eyes, Bruce pushes past Melinda and barrels through the Avengers compound. 

Someone catches him by the arm, but he throws them off easily. Although they hit the wall in the hallway with a loud _thud_ , Bruce doesn’t think he’s hurt them. But he has difficulty focusing his thoughts, his vision. 

He doesn’t know whom to trust. And at this moment - again - he is forced to face the reality that he still doesn’t trust himself.

Someone grabs his arm again, spinning him around to face him, and the strength of the person is surprising. Even when he tries to twist out of their hold, he finds himself rooted in place. As he struggles to bring their image into focus, Bruce finds himself spilling his thoughts aloud.

“I was stupid.” To believe he could trust someone else with his secrets. Dumb enough to bring another scientist into his experiments. “Stupid to think anyone could understand.” To believe Melinda would respect his wishes.

She had, after all, started their partnership butting heads with him - not wanting Bruce to rid himself of Hulk in the first place.

Although that is an experiment Bruce is now happy had failed, Hulk rages and throws a tantrum within him at the reminder of the attempts. 

Hulk. A living consciousness. For Bruce to have extricated Hulk from himself would have been to kill him.

Within Bruce, Hulk roars. Afraid. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid of what he does know. What he knows about the serums, about the cruelty of humanity and human experience. Afraid of what people do to each other and what they can do to him.

“It’s alright, Brother.” A strong voice calls out through the storm of anger and fear clouding Bruce’s mind. “The time is upon us to meet once again.”

Bruce blinks until his surroundings gain clarity. He recognizes Thor, of course. The angle of his head as the god speaks to Hulk regardless of Bruce’s form. He recognizes the training room as well.

How did he get here? Had this been where he was headed all along?

“We shouldn’t do this now,” Bruce warns. “Not while he’s-”

“It is safe here.” Thor reminds him. No, Thor isn’t talking to Bruce. Still, his eyes search for green despite the brown. “It’s safe.”

“You can’t possibly know that.” Bruce places a hand on Thor’s chest to shove him backward, but the god’s body is unmoving. “You can’t promise Hulk safety. Not here.”

“Brother Banner,” Thor greets him with a smile. “You are family. Nothing will stop me from keeping my brother safe.”

**⁂  
** **MELINDA**

Four vials of serum have gone missing from the safe. Whoever took the gamma suppressants have, in their possession, the most prized of Bruce’s samples.

Melinda has to find Bruce; she has to let him know that the ones who broke into their lab didn’t know what they were looking for. With her tablet in hand, Melinda follows JARVIS’s directions to the gym.

“Well, I guess this’ll have to wait,” she mutters to herself. Through the large windows along the high walls of the training room, Melinda witnesses the clash of the titans. Hulk and Thor slam into each other with enough force to rock the building and topple the equipment in the gym with them.

After a minute of looking in - for science - Melinda turns her attention back to her first priority: find the stolen vials.

She doesn’t have the depths of clearance, knowledge of coding, or ‘hacker skills’ to sort through SHIELD’s files. But she combs through what she can. JARVIS supplies security footage of the hall, but with the agreement between Banner and Stark not to interfere with each other’s work, the majority of the footage is kept under lock and key.

**⁂  
NATASHA**

Natasha and Clint are on their way to spar themselves, when they feel the floor beneath them quake. They exchange a look before sprinting the rest of the way to the observation deck that overlooks the training room. 

“Mel-” Natasha stops herself from addressing the scientist so informally. “Dr. Lucenstern, what are you doing here?”

Melinda. _Dr. Lucenstern_ looks cagey as she places her tablet on the bench at her side. But she gestures to the window and Natasha joins Clint to watch Hulk and Thor locked in battle. 

Thor is getting pummelled. 

Usually, Thor would be brandishing his signature smile. The one he wears even when Hulk has him smashed into the floor. Instead, Thor is goading Hulk and smacking him around with a look of consternation and deep V of thought between his brows. 

“Clint, what’s he saying?”

At first Natasha thinks Thor is teaching Hulk something. Thor is speaking - after every blow he receives, every block, every hit he doles out. But when Clint reads his lips, he is almost certain Thor is encouraging Hulk to hit harder, move faster. And, at times, telling Hulk that it’s all right. 

Natasha and Clint have witnessed Thor’s affections in his bright smile, enthusiastic hugs, and optimism, but this tenderness (while in the midst of a brutal beatdown) is new. 

Turning to ask Melinda - _Dr. Lucenstern_ \- to weigh in, Natasha notices her snooping through the Hawkeye files.

“Didn’t take you for a marksman. A little out of your scope, don’t you think?”

“Been looking into Widow’s aerosols and darts, as well.”

Natasha’s lip curls. “Why?”

“The Hulk serums,” Clint offers, enlightened. 

Dr. Lucenstern nods.

“What about them?”

“We know SHIELD acquired an original sample from your arrow,” Dr. Lucenstern says with a wave of her hand, “and they’ve been synthesizing their own designs in their labs. Bastardizing and weaponizing the compounds for use against Abomination. But it seems they were none too pleased by Dr. Banner’s refusal to assist.”

Clint tugs at his ear. “I don’t know. It kinda seemed like they stopped giving a shit. No offense.”

Natasha’s not so sure. She remembers how persistent Director Fury has been in regard to keeping Bruce under watch, Hulk underground, and SHIELD’s own research under wraps.

Dr. Lucenstern chews on her plump bottom lip as her nose scrunches in thought. “Occam’s razor. The simplest answer is most often correct.”

Natasha looks from the scientist to the archer to the Hulk and the god. “Avengers versus SHIELD. That’s… alot.”

“We have to tell Dr. Banner,” Clint says, staring down at their friends in a deadlock below.

“It’ll tear him apart,” Natasha says quietly.

Dr. Lucenstern rises from her seat to join them at the window. “He’s already torn. The only shot we have at pulling him back together again - at earning his trust - is through transparency. Especially where his safety is concerned.”

**⁂  
TONY**

Tony rides the elevator down from his bedroom fighting an anxiety attack. He forces deep, measured breaths, aware of and desperately trying to ignore his current episode of dizziness and double-vision. _It’s nothing,_ he tells himself. _An overreaction._

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows he can keep busy for an hour or two while Bruce gets himself sorted.

The journey to the private lab he’s been sharing with Paul is easy enough that Tony can walk it blindly. But he really must be more aware of his surroundings or else one of these days he is going to crash into Paul headfirst.

“Are you alright?” Paul asks, bracing Tony as he stumbles through the doorway. There’s no ‘hello’, no ‘what are you still doing here’ - which really is a question Tony would ask of Paul if he were thinking straight. 

Tony opens his mouth to give a snide remark, something egotistical and overconfident, stereotypical of his reputation. But when he tries to speak, his tongue is heavy, his speech is slurred. His vision blurs and he hopes his hands will break his fall.

Paul’s arms are around him, then, lowering him into a chair as his knees buckle. The way Tony collapses in a heap sends the chair spinning. Or, no -- Tony thinks maybe the room is spinning instead.

“Paul, I-” Tony starts and stops again as warnings sound in his mind. No, not in his mind. _Is that JARVIS? Hey, buddy. Nice of you to drop in._ “Paul, can you open a window in here?” Tony asks. He thinks. It’s hard to tell how much he’s managed to say aloud.

Paul has his back to Tony, tinkering with something on the table. JARVIS is engaged in some kind of discussion with him - super magnets and tophat transistors and older tech Tony hasn’t touched in ages. They’re too busy with work to be bothered by a little thing like poor old Tony in the middle of a stroke, or a heart attack, or- 

“Fuck,” Tony gasps, squinting as the overhead light overwhelms him. “I can’t breathe.”

As Paul continues to work at his station, as Bruce takes time to recenter himself, Tony struggles to make sense of Jarvis’s flight of ideas. Tony fights to hold onto his consciousness.

He thinks he’d laugh if he had any air with which to do so.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Melinda  
> Bruce

**⁂  
TONY**

Tony wakes, lying on a reclined mechanical chair. "What happened?” he grumbles, unrestrained but too weak to sit up. “What's going on?"

For the most part, panic has left him. He’s ready to think of solutions.

"You blinked."

Tony hates that word.

"I'm gonna need more information than that, Paul." His limbs feel leaden. He's lightheaded and nauseated. There's a buzzing in his chest, both different and vaguely familiar.

"Blinked.” Paul gnaws at his lips as he works. They’re swollen, and what was once chapped from the winter’s cold is now torn. “You know. Light went on and off.” Paul shakes his head as he moves things around on his computer screen. He types on Tony’s engineering keyboard as proficient as if it were made for him. And of course he does; since Paul started work at the lab he’s proven himself to be a quick study and an eager learner. They work well together, in synchrony. 

“JARVIS expanded my permissions, gave me access to the recordings of your vitals.” Paul sets a program to run and the machines next to his desk start assembling his design. “According to your medical record, this isn't the first time it's happened. You’ve been ignoring his warnings for months."

It takes Tony a minute to understand what is happening in front of him. It takes the machine a minute to build the frame of what looks like the beginnings of a mini arc reactor.

Tony reaches for his chest, feels wires leading into the gaping hole where his reactor should be. "Where-"

"Right here," Paul says quickly. He places Tony's hand on the tech that had been keeping him alive for the past two years, but it does little to quell Tony’s anxiety. 

Tony can’t process what Paul has said about JARVIS and warnings when his lifeline is under his hand instead of in its socket. “What are you building?”

“A replacement chest piece. Something temporary, at least. The design is incomplete, of course. I can reverse engineer the framework but the secrets of your arc reactor technology, well, JARVIS wouldn’t grant permission to that, even in the event of your death. You have a smart system - loyal. And your willingness to self-sacrifice is admirable...”

“I sense a ‘but’.”

“ _But_ I wasn’t going to let you die,” Paul chuckles. “I fashioned you what I could. The magnets are still doing their job - or, rather, they’re doing their job again. But, without the mini arc reactor power source, I’m afraid you’re wired to the lab.”

“My reactor malfunctioned? Failed?” _No. JARVIS would have said something. He would have seen this coming. He would have gotten my attention._

“Blinked.”

“Y-yeah, that _sounds_ like a malfunction.” With as frequently and easily as his panic has risen over the past month, Tony expects the news to hit him harder. But beyond another wave of nausea, his heartbeat remains steady. His breathing is shallow, but even.

“I couldn’t run diagnostics on the reactor while also keeping you alive,” Paul explains. “All I can say is, the light went out briefly. You lost consciousness.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Maybe forty minutes.” Paul slides the glass keyboard toward Tony, and a hologram of the reactor travels with it. “I tried getting ahold of Dr. Banner. But he's currently… indisposed.”

Tony turns his attention to the holographic design, trying to act like he’s not desperate to have Bruce at his side. "Wh-why would I need-"

"I'm not dumb or oblivious. You wouldn't have hired me if I couldn't figure out something as simple as your relationship with him. Although, if you're keeping it secret from others, I will respect that."

"Um… thanks." Tony wishes he could take in a full breath. These shallow drags of air don’t feel like they’re enough. “So Bruce. He's indisposed how? JARVIS should be able to get a message to him even if he’s-"

"He's in the gym."

Tony maneuvers himself onto his side, despite the tug of the wires. "The gym."

"With Thor."

That doesn't make sense. He'd do yoga with Nat, maybe. But Thor? The only ones who let loose to spar with Thor are Steve and… “Hulk,” Tony realizes under his breath. “Bruce isn't around, is he?"

"I’m sorry,” Paul says with a sincerity in his eyes that feels heavy in Tony’s stomach.

“Why? I mean-” Tony swallows hard “-what’s there to be sorry about?”

“Well, for whatever happened. I know it’s been a while since Hulk’s last appearance.”

Tony’s voice takes on a chill. “It’s just a training exercise, Paul. Get used to it or get out.”

Paul’s frown is gentle, as is the little nod he gives as he turns to his computer. “Of course. I’m sorry. We can get him up to speed when the exercise is done. Maybe make a bit of headway before then.”

“A bit? No. We’re going to fix this without him.”

“What?” Paul looks up in alarm. “Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

“Please. I don’t need him in a lab worrying about me. It’s the holiday season. I promised the team Christmas. I’m not going to tarnish that laid up in SHIELD's medical wing again. We’ll fix this on our own.” Tony’s already given Bruce enough to chew on for a lifetime. If he’s learned one thing from Pepper, it’s that some things are too much for another person to bear. Some things one has to carry on one’s own.

Tony’s switched out his reactor before - and now he has another set of capable hands to help him. It’ll be fine. Telling Bruce can wait.

Poor Paul thinks his arguments stand a chance. “I don’t-”

“Two heads are better than three.”

“That’s not-”

“Too many chefs in the kitchen… You feel me?”

Paul grimaces, “Um-”

“Now get your hands in my chest, one of these connectors is pinching and it’s getting harder to breathe.”

“Oh!” Paul jumps up from his chair to fiddle with Tony’s wiring while Tony focuses on the computer, single-handedly filling in the gaps to complete a new reactor design. “You really shouldn’t be moving around so much.” 

As the machines at the end of the table work on the build, Paul realizes the striking similarities to the previous model. “So, that’s the same as the last one, then?”

Tony grunts as Paul finally finds the offending wire. He sighs as his lung capacity is restored. “It worked for a few years. It can get me through a few months.”

“But if we don’t know what caused the malfunction-”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Tony grins. “We’ll fix me up nice and pretty after egg nog and fruit cake.”

“Are those really the Christmas traditions you're most looking forward to?” Paul steps back from his work just as the new reactor’s assembly is completed. 

Tony ignores the question. He had been looking forward to mistletoe, when it looked like Bruce would be receptive to pausing under it with him.

Tony beckons for a bot to bring him his device for inspection. “Tell me, Paul, have you ever had a real Christmas?”

Paul pulls a face. “I’m Jewish.”

“Oh. I… think I knew that. Well, Happy Hanukkah.” 

Tony is quiet as he takes a last look at the reactor. He holds the device out to Paul. Although he pretends the handoff isn’t a big deal, he’s never entrusted anyone with so much power over himself or his work. “Help me jam this hunk of awesome into my chest, will ya?”

And Paul does. Without hesitation. Almost mechanically, and with the focus of a scientist mid-experiment, Paul sets to task. Tony’s fears of him taking advantage are for naught. 

For a second, the reactor glows off-color through Paul’s fingers. Then, it’s blue. It’s done. Paul lifts his hands and Tony draws a full breath as he sits up. 

In awe of their work, Paul wipes his hands on his shirt and whispers, “L’Chaim,” using the toast as an expression of gratitude for their good luck.

Tony wipes a hand over his face, and his shoulders bounce with a chuckle of relief. He offers god a ‘prayer’ of his own, “Holy shit.”

**⁂  
**

Tony is sick of hearing that his superspy superfriends have come up with bupkis in their search for leads to the missing serums. "You gotta give me something, folks." 

If he demands enough from everyone else, maybe he can ignore his own failings, the areas in which he continues to fall short. 

Things with Bruce have gotten good. Too good. With the secrets Tony keeps from him and the hours Bruce and Dr. Lucenstern stay holed up in their private lab, their relationship has no right to feel this secure. Just a few words could ruin everything. But Tony knows he’ll find a way out — a way to find and recover the missing samples, a way to get Nick off his back, a way to remodel his reactor, a way to apologize for all the lies.

"Nick’s talking about HulkBuster drones now,” Tony despairs to Nat and Clint. “He’s making threats."

"He's got the shells, Tony.” Nat’s sympathies come by way of hard facts and a cool disposition. “If you don't program them, he really will find someone else to do it." Tony hates it when she’s right. "Take the job, Tony. Control what the suits do. Control who can power and wear them."

Reluctantly, Tony begins blueprints for upgrading SHIELD’s army of remotely piloted armor. And all the while he pretends the anxiety swirling in his gut is anticipation for Abomination and Loki’s inevitable return, not the guilt of a traitor.

**⁂**

Bruce’s fingers graze Tony’s neck as he folds the starched collar of his dress shirt down. They pause under his chin, hook over the knot of Tony’s bowtie, and pull Tony in for a kiss. 

“You look gorgeous in green,” Bruce whispers against Tony’s lips.

“So do you,” Tony shares, and he tries not to show his surprise when Bruce takes a small step backward. The space between them is cold and unwelcome. Tony wants to close the gap, but Bruce must be reading his mind. The latter takes a second step away.

Bruce’s hands fall away from Tony to rest upon his own stomach and chest. But he isn’t in distress. His pulsometer reading is well within normal; it’s easy for Tony to match the pattern of his breaths.

“Why are you over there, when I want you over here?” Tony asks with a smile. 

The moment between Tony’s question and Bruce’s response stretches too long. The distance between their bodies is too far. Tony risks a small step forward and balks at Bruce’s answering steps of retreat.

Lowering himself to his knees happens without a thought. He kneels in wait, eyes on the floor, until he finds it within himself to look up. 

Halfway across the room, Bruce is still holding himself. But he’s frozen in place; his eyes are locked. 

Tony eases forward, testing his approach one hand at a time until he’s on all fours and slowly crawling toward Bruce. The hem of his shirt tickles his bare thighs as he moves. The rug is rough under his knees. His heart hammers against his chest.

Tony takes another inch for himself. Bruce doesn’t flinch. Tony takes some more.

It isn’t until Tony is positioned at Bruce’s feet that Tony realizes what he is going to do. But as he curls in upon himself, lays his forehead upon the toecaps of Bruce’s shoes, and expels a long breath, Tony knows he’ll finally come clean. About the reactor, about the drones. About the investigation they’ve got running on SHIELD. He’ll even tell Bruce about Hulk’s room, though he doubts that will soften the blow.

“Anthony,” Bruce says in his deep rumble of authority and concern. “What is it? Qué te pasa, corazón mío?”

“Te amo,” Tony says, lifting his head just enough to dash a hand over his eyes. Despite his efforts, his first confession is punctuated by the soft tap of a tear falling upon Bruce’s polished shoe. 

“Y estoy enamorado de ti.” Bruce’s left foot slips away as he brings himself down on one knee. One hand cups Tony’s cheek as the other smoothes Tony’s hair around his ears. 

Tony holds his gaze, fearful more tears will fall from his eyes if he blinks.

“Estás agotado. You should rest.”

Tony nods. “We need to talk. I have to tell you-”

“Qué? What is it, mi amor?”

A bang on the door snatches them out of their own little world. 

Bruce raises his voice, but his demand for privacy is collected and even. 

Steve answers from the hall. “I’m sorry but whatever’s going on in there is going to have to wait. Tony was expected in the ballroom an hour ago.”

“The gala starts at 8,” Bruce argues with a glance at his watch.

The voice that answers isn’t Steve. “Uh, no.” 

Tony hangs his head and lets his eyes go dry. Rhodey sounds pissed. 

“The prince’s ball started at 6. Tony’s ass was scheduled for a welcome toast at 7. And his ‘fashionably late’ pass has been officially revoked.”

Bruce places a quick kiss to the top of Tony’s head before he goes to the door. “Steve,” he starts, opening the door a crack. “Give us a minute.”

There’s a pause and it seems like Steve understands, like he’d be willing to stall, if not for Rhodey at his side.

Rhodey shouts over Bruce’s shoulder. “Get some damn pants on and meet us downstairs. You have exactly five minutes before I armor up and beat your ass. Again.”

At the mention of armor, Tony turns his face away from the sounds in the hall. He stands in front of the mirror to dress himself and stares at his reflection wondering how he’ll ever bring himself to smile.

Tony feels the heat of Bruce’s presence before he registers the second reflection looking back at him. 

“Can it wait?” Bruce asks. He drags his hands over Tony’s shoulders, down his arms, and holds him tightly over his Iron Man cuffs. “Whatever it is you need to tell me. Can it wait?”

With all of the procrastinating he’s already done, Tony thinks, how could he possibly wait any longer? But if Bruce’s question is a request, then Tony will honor it. And if this is the only night they’ll share a dancefloor, Tony will do his best to make sure Bruce enjoys it.

“Of course. Then you’ll tell me why you pulled away?”

“Oh, that.” Bruce places a kiss behind Tony’s ear. “I thought I might have been… off-color. The Other Guy, he - we - find you quite handsome tonight.”

Tony blinks and the smile he was desperate to find tugs gently at his lips. “Only tonight?” There’s so much of Bruce’s statement that he wants to unpack. So much, and so little time.

Bruce kisses the other side of Tony’s neck with a hum. “Always,” he murmurs against his skin. 

“Sounds like your journey of self-discovery with Dr. Lucenstern is paying off.” Tony turns into Bruce’s arms, selfishly wanting to hear all about it despite the secrets he’s kept.

“How about, I’ll show you mine, after you show me yours.”

It takes Tony effort to hold his smile in place, but in an instant Bruce’s hand is at his cheek, his thumb is caressing his lips.

“It’s going to be alright.” From the look in Bruce’s eyes, Tony knows he thinks he’s speaking the truth; and Tony wants, desperately, to believe him. 

**⁂**

At the gala, Tony sees that it isn’t the run of the mill, one thousand dollar per plate gathering of investors and filthy rich jerks rubbing elbows with each other. 

“You invited your staff. Aren’t you generous?” Pepper says with a smile and a wave at their guests. “We brought in caterers and waitstaff from an outside agency so that our SI employees could attend. And we made a deal with several retailers for tuxedo and gown rentals.”

Tony leans into Pepper, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “A good deal, I hope?”

“Oh, yes.” She nods enthusiastically. “A fabulous deal. For _them_.”

Tony kisses her cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, and he means for everything. For all the years they’ve had together. For everything she put up with and all of the crap she wouldn’t let him get away with. 

When Bruce comes to steal Tony for a dance, Pepper greets him with a smile. “You’ll take good care of this one, if you know what’s good for you.”

It’s the first easy exchange of levity Tony has ever witnessed between Pepper and Bruce. 

“I intend to.”

“Good.” Pepper says through light laughter. “Cause I hear Tony’s built me a suit that can kick your ass if you step outta line.”

Tony knows she’s joking. He knows she’s talking about the suit he made for her _just in case_. _Rescue_ , he calls it, so she knows it’s only intended for the most dire of emergencies. Nonetheless, another mention of armor tonight, when it’s Tony who should be admitting to the designs for SHIELD, stops Tony’s heart.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says. “I need some air.” 

Tony has barely enough time to feel the winter’s chill on his face when Nick joins him on the balcony. _Life really is an ambush_. Tony frowns. He thinks, maybe he can just ‘Yes’ Nick to death and be left alone. The sooner he’s rid of SHIELD’s never-ending list of demands, the sooner Tony can get back to Bruce.

**⁂  
MELINDA**

Natasha sets a drink down in front of Melinda where she sits poking at a small dish of hors d'oeuvres. 

Melinda glances up at the company with every intention of returning to her inspection of the small skewer of meat under her fork, but one look at Natasha has her stunned. “You look…” The dress looks smooth as polished jade, in the color to match. “Different.”

“Oh.” Natasha hasn’t sat down. Her fingers drum the back of the chair under her hands, advertising her nerves. She isn’t hiding her behind her training. 

Or, perhaps she is projecting an air of anxiety to influence those around her to lower their guard. 

“Can’t really wear my suit to a place like this, so...” Natasha’s pattern of speech is different as well. Melinda recognizes the bit of mirroring. “I have to keep a low profile.”

Melinda scoffs, _In that dress?_ “You call that ‘low profile’?”

Natasha lifts her hands from the chair to smooth them over her stomach. “May I sit?”

Melinda shoves at a chair leg with her toe, pushing the seat out from under the table just enough to be read as an invitation. 

“Do you eat meat?” she asks, stabbing at the as of yet unidentified cube of rare animal flesh on her plate.

With a tinkering laugh, Natasha answers, “I eat everything.”

“Great,” Melinda says, trading her plate of appetizers for Natasha’s empty one. “I’m going to find something to eat that wasn’t breathing this morning.” 

She stands to leave, but stops at the cool touch of Natasha’s hand on hers. “You look…”

Melinda narrows her eyes, daring Natasha to keep up her charade. 

“Your dress is nice. You wear it well.”

“Thank you.” Melinda slides her hand out of Natasha’s grasp. “It belonged to Ms. Potts.”

At that, Natasha scowls and Melinda can’t help but be a little charmed by the way her mouth suddenly quirks to the side. They both know there is no way Melinda could share a wardrobe with Stark Industries’ lithe CEO.

“I believe it belonged to her mother.”

“Oh. It looks like it was made to fit you.”

“A good seamstress can work wonders,” Melinda answers, growing agitated by Natasha’s games. Whatever the woman wants, she can ask outright. There’s no need for a farce of flirtation.

"I’m sorry,” Natasha says, ruefully. 

_She’s good at this_ , Melinda thinks. _She’s very good. Of course, she is; a superspy and an Avenger couldn’t pass being ‘just OK’._

“So, you and Ebersol, then? Is he your…" 

_Ugh._ Melinda has one hand on her hip, the other hand hangs at her side still holding an empty plate. Food can wait; there’s no way Melinda is letting anyone go on thinking for one second that she’s associated with that "... annoying know-it-all who thinks he can springboard off Stark’s inventions to reimagine prostheses.”

Natasha’s eyebrows lift at her outburst. 

“I mean,” Melinda goes on, “I hope he does, I guess. But could the guy be a little less arrogant? Heard him mumbling about the effect of gamma reactors yesterday. Like, stay in your lane, buddy."

**⁂  
BRUCE**

The set of Tony’s jaw and the angle of Fury’s lean have Bruce quickening his walk onto the balcony to join them. He’s going to tear Tony away, tell Fury that whatever it is can wait. There aren’t any alarms going off. Steve has taken it upon himself to act as a sentinel, looking over the safety of everyone in attendance, but there’s been no call to Assemble. Ergo, if Bruce and Tony’s conversations have to be put on ice until after the party, then Fury’s concerns can be treated similarly. 

Bruce steps into the night with a look of warning twisting his frown. Then the words ‘HulkBuster’ and ‘mass production’ fall from Tony’s tongue and it doesn’t matter that Tony sounds like he’s spitting fire. It doesn’t matter that his lip is curled in a snarl and his back is up against the wall. Within Bruce, Hulk rages.

“Ah, Dr. Banner. Perfect timing, isn’t it.”

Bruce lifts his finger toward the door and his eyes to Fury. All he sees is a haze of green. “Get out of my sight.”

“Bruce.” Tony’s concern fills the air. “Are you-”

There aren’t enough words to describe the anger boiling under Bruce’s skin. “Fury. Out.”

“Of course,” Fury says with his easy-going sneer. “It seems you two love birds have quite a bit to work out.”

Bruce is able to hold himself together until Fury disappears in the throng of people inside the ballroom. Once he’s gone, Bruce can’t focus on anything but the roars of the beast inside his head. 

He can feel Tony’s hands on him, ushering him to sit away from the doors. He can hear Tony speaking at his ear. But the touches are soft and the voice is too quiet. Hulk’s tantrum drowns out everything but the reality of deceit.

“Veronica is, what? A prototype? A model for SHIELD drones?”

Bruce’s accusations drip with venom; they rumble with the depths of Hulk’s ire. The light weight of Tony’s hands on his knees slips away.

Strangely, it’s the absence of Tony’s touch that anchors him, stops him from being dragged into the whirlpool Hulk has stirred. 

Bruce reaches out for Tony, surprised to find him still close, still waiting to be seen. Bruce blinks and his shoulders heave with each breath. 

“This is what I had to talk to you about,” Tony says before confessing to giving into Fury’s orders after repeatedly resisting his threats.

Tony spews apologies and rationalizations, but what Bruce hears is, _'I've been lying to you for weeks.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qué te pasa, corazón mío? (What's wrong, my heart?)  
> Te amo. (I love you.)  
> Y estoy enamorado de ti. (And I am in love with you.)  
> Estás agotado. (You're exhausted.)  
> Qué? What is it, mi amor? (What? What is it, my love?)


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha  
> Bruce  
> Tony  
> more Bruce

**⁂  
NATASHA**

Natasha doesn’t think she’s ever seen Tony cry. Not when his sternum cracked or when Steve refused him extra meds. Not when his stitches tore or when he ask for the hundredth time why Bruce hadn’t visited him in the hospital. 

But by the look of his bloodshot eyes, his red nose, and his white-knuckled grip on his water glass, Natasha would bet he doesn’t have long before tears start falling.

Melinda returns with a plate of fruit, nuts, and cheese; and drops it unceremoniously toward the center of the table. “Do you know why Barton flirts with everything within a mile radius of him?”

“He just wants to be noticed. Unlike…” Natasha nods her head toward Tony and Melinda laughs.

“Yeah, right. Stark wants to be noticed more than anyone.”

“No. Tony puts on a show, feigns transparency, so no one thinks they have to look deeper.” Natasha glances up at Melinda and appreciates the gravity with which she considers the information. “I have to check on him. Could you-”

“I’ll find Banner.”

“Wait.” Melinda shouldn’t go alone. “What if he… What if Hulk…”

“I can handle Hulk.”

“You’ll have to forgive my disbelief,” Natasha starts, until realization dawns. “You have the missing serums.”

Melinda’s entire demeanor snaps from concerned to indignant. “Do you really think I want to do more damage tonight? You are all one big happy family -- hellbent on keeping Hulk under lock and key.”

Natasha tries appealing to her reason. “If we don’t, who will? No one good. No one that cares about him or his safety.” Keeping her voice low and one eye on Tony at the edge of the crowd, Natasha questions Melinda. “What makes you such a good judge of what’s best for Hulk?”

“I’ve spoken to him.” Melinda whispers back. “It was fleeting and Bruce wasn’t sure at the time, but I remember the change in Banner’s eyes and the change in his speech. It was Hulk.” 

“Thor says he speaks to Hulk, too.” But Natasha had only ever experienced Hulk’s thoughts and emotions expressed inarticulately. To her, he is - _was_ \- a nonverbal entity. But now…

“Bruce has formed some kind of connection with him. To Bruce, now more than ever, Hulk is not a beast - not only the monster inside of him. He’s the parts that are too scared, too angry to integrate. Except, maybe, Banner’s learning to do just that.” 

“So what will that mean for them as individuals?” 

“I don’t know. But I don’t think shooting Hulk up with drugs - no matter who concocted them - or beating him into the ground with mechanical fists, mini rockets, and laser beams is going to do him or Bruce any good.”

“So you destroyed the tranquilizers.”

“I did not.” Melinda sighs and though Natasha knows that another moment locked in this conversation could cause her to lose her spot on Tony, she stays. “I’ve been trying to think about who has access to Tony’s AI. Who could delete security footage so thoroughly that not even JARVIS would know what hit him.”

Natasha shakes her head. “There’s no one. Tony keeps his AI locked. He has me try to break in all the time just to prove how superior he is.”

“But Banner has allowances. And if he and Hulk are integrating, it’s possible there’s another personality coming into play.”

“No.” Natasha stands from the table, ready for the conversation to be over, ready to find Tony and get some real answers. “What did you say, last time? Occam’s razor. I don’t buy this split personality thing. There’s Bruce and there’s Hulk and that’s it.”

Melinda purses her lips before presenting her argument again. “Is it?”

**⁂  
BRUCE**

Under the stars can be a lonely place, even with a giant beating at the walls of your skull. Bruce regrets sending Tony away in favor of meditation. But at least Hulk has started to calm down, though Bruce can’t tell what he did or said to aid Hulk in the process. He thinks maybe it wasn’t anything _he_ did at all. His mind swims with the images of Tony fearlessly kissing Bruce’s palm before going inside.

**⁂**

Bruce wanders the dancefloor in search of Tony. His lips had said ‘I’m sorry.’ His actions had said, ‘I’m not afraid.’ But his eyes had said, ‘There’s more.’ And Bruce wants to hear it all. He’s ready to hear it all. 

“Oof.”

Without looking where he was going, Bruce finds himself toe to toe with Dr. Ebersol, half of his drink now a dark stain down his chest. 

“I’m sorry, Paul. I was looking for Tony.”

“That’s alright. I was limping long before you stomped my toes.” 

Bruce nods as his eyes scan the room, wishing he could skip the small talk and return to his search in earnest. 

“Care for champagne?”

With a wave, Bruce declines. “I don’t drink-”

“Here, have some water, then.”

“Sure.” Bruce accepts the glass half-full and swallows it in one go. “Thanks.” He really was feeling parched, but it’s Tony that holds his concern. 

“You know the prosthetic limbs I’ve been working on are really remarkable,” Paul says, angling himself to catch Bruce’s eye. “Once this business with Dr. Stark’s reactor is settled, I’d really love to have you weigh in.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh.” Dr. Ebersol chews his lip as he stammers through his response. “H-he said he was going to tell you.” 

“Look. I need to find Tony. Have you seen him?” 

With a quick nod, Dr. Ebersol points toward the elevators “He and the Director went off together.”

“Did he seem OK?”

“I don’t know. Things were normal, I guess.” Ebersol’s eyes linger on the elevator doors. “They argue a lot.”

**⁂**

When Steve confirms Tony had followed Fury into the elevators a short while ago, Bruce sighs in resignation.

“You should go out there,” Bruce says. “Have a dance.” After working so hard to put the party together, Steve should have the opportunity to enjoy it. 

“There’s too much going on to drop my guard now.” Steve frowns as he watches the crowd. “I’m happy to take up the watch to ensure the rest of the team gets a bit of respite.” 

Without animosity, Bruce says he can relate. “I know what it’s like to stand on the sidelines to ensure everyone else is safer.”

Steve meets his gaze for a minute and the acknowledgement feels like an apology. 

“Someone should take up the next leg of the watch. Give you a break.”

“Like you?”

Bruce smiles. “Like me.” Tony will be caught up with SHIELD business for a while - and since Bruce can’t trust himself to go up to the Director’s office without tearing a hole through the wall - or him - Bruce makes Steve an honest offer. “Let me stand watch for a while.”

Looking after the party is easy work, overall. There’s no one out for vengeance or villany. No one even steps out of line - except Clint who makes some bawdy jokes in front of Steve and is immediately reprimanded for being uncouth in mixed company.

Eventually, however, Bruce’s eyes begin to fatigue and his head begins to ache. The noise of music and yammering voices echo off the walls of the ballroom. The lights of the chandeliers reflect off their crystal ornaments and the glass ceiling, so bright Bruce finds himself squinting. Inside, Hulk paces and whines. 

By the time Steve takes his post again, Bruce is wound tight. 

“Are you feeling OK?”

The smile Bruce offers is weak. “It’s been a long day.” And Bruce isn’t sure when it will end. 

**⁂**

At his apartment, Bruce showers and changes, but it does little to ease the tension in his muscles or the pressure building behind his eyes. 

“JARVIS, is Tony home yet?” Bruce asks, chewing on aspirin in what he hopes isn’t a futile attempt to tame this monster of a headache.

**⁂  
TONY**

JARVIS alerts Tony to Bruce’s approach, but it’s not the first notice he’s gotten that Bruce is looking for him. 

Steve’s exasperated sigh in Tony’s ear is enough to make Tony want to toss his phone across the room. “Well, if you still need company...” Steve starts in, but Tony tells him he’s got a pot of cider simmering and JARVIS crying for daddy’s attention in his other ear. 

“You sure you’re alright?”

Tony apologizes to Steve for dragging him into the middle of everything. “I know my stuff with Bruce isn’t your problem.”

“It’s OK.”

Tony hates that he’s become an inconvenience. 

“So what have you been doing all night?”

Tony knows he’s asking if he’s been drinking. 

“Keeping busy. Nick doesn’t really have a chill button.” In truth, Tony thought Bruce would come up after his meditation. He’d waited for hours watching surveillance footage of Bruce watching the party.

When Bruce retired to his own apartment, Tony moved from pacing the workshop to the living room and made the call to Steve. 

Now, Tony watches surveillance from his couch, nursing a steaming mug of spiced, but unspiked, cider. 

On screen, Bruce exits the elevator by the workshop and Tony dares him to go into the Den of Lies. Instead, Bruce walks through the hall and stops at Tony’s front door. 

“Steve, I gotta go.”

“Oh OK. Call me if y-” Tony ends the call abruptly. There’s no time for forced pleasantries when Bruce is finally here. 

Tony tenses at Bruce’s hesitation to knock. He sits up straighter. It’s not like Bruce to balk. Not with him. Not anymore. 

Tony considers walking to the foyer himself, pulling Bruce in, and asking what took him so long to come up. But Bruce doesn’t even wait for Tony to make up his mind. 

With a quick turn on his heel, Bruce departs down the hall, leaving Tony alone and confused. 

**⁂  
BRUCE**

Standing at the door to Tony’s penthouse, Bruce rubs the bridge of his nose and breathes carefully. It doesn’t do much to stave off the nausea of his migraine. 

Head hung low, Bruce decides that his discussion with Tony will have to wait until he’s in better shape. He can’t expect to have any meaningful conversation while his head feels about to split open. 

He’ll come back to the penthouse after the worst has subsided. First, he needs some fresh air.

**⁂**

Dragging his feet down the sidewalk, Bruce tries not to think, but Hulk tosses image after image up on the screen of their shared mind. The pictures are Iron Man suits; all of them Veronicas. 

Bruce squints at the headlights of cars as they pass. He breathes into the sleeve of his sweatshirt when odorous steam rises from the grates below his feet. 

He leans against a lamppost and tries not to think about what a HulkBuster could do, what it would need to do. 

If it was designed well, could it really stop Hulk without hurting him? 

Hulk roars against the confines of Bruce’s mind, taunting, _‘Nothing can hurt Hulk. Hulk strong. Most strong.’_

_Strongest,_ Bruce corrects The Other Guy out of habit, but now’s not the time for a grammar lesson.

With his back against a street corner Newsstand and his knees hugged to his chest, Bruce bows his head and tries to calm the voice inside. He doesn't mention the real threats that exist against them for perhaps the first time. Someone took the old serums from Bruce's lab. Scientists at SHIELD are cooking up new formulas in their labs every day. It is very possible that they have entered a reality where Hulk can suffer some kind of injury. At the very least, Bruce knows he is at risk of causing collateral damage. And suffering some himself.

In his pocket his phone trills with an incoming call. Bruce silences the shrill tone as quickly as he can, but its piercing ring plays on a loop in his head. Dizzy and disoriented, Bruce buries his face in his knees, grabs his hair by the fistful, and pulls. 

Distraught, Hulk hunkers down and does the same.

There's only one person Bruce wants to talk to. But he _needs_ to take care of Hulk, to sort himself out, first. Tony will understand.

He'll call him back. It will only be a few minutes more. 

Bruce doesn't know how much time had passed when he hears Tony's ringtone sound again. Head throbbing, fireworks behind his eyelids, vision blurry, Bruce fishes his phone out of his pocket. 

His trembling hands fumble the phone. It falls to the sidewalk with a * _smack*_. 

Waiting for the cracked screen to reboot back to life feels like it's taking an eternity. 

He’s squinting down at the phone as it loads when he feels the prick of a needle pierce his neck.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Steve  
> Natasha  
> Melinda

**⁂  
** **TONY**

When he can’t reach Bruce, Tony pours a double helping of brandy into his mug and slumps into an armchair. The television in front of him drones. The hot cider warms his cold hands. His reactor aches. And his heart feels like it’s breaking.

He doesn’t know how he ends up sitting on the floor in front of the couch. Or how many times he dialed Steve before he finally picked up. But it’s pitch black through the windows and Tony’s drink has long since gone forgotten and cold. 

It's rare for Steve to answer so late, and Tony knows that he didn’t really mean it when he said he should call again, so the resulting snippiness of his, "Sleep it off," is to be expected. “I’ll be over in the morning for eggs and Bloody Marys.”

Tony recognizes his standard hangover ‘remedy’. He realizes Steve thinks he’s drunk. It should infuriate him, instead he can’t find it in himself to care. 

Bruce left without saying goodbye. When Bruce had been stalling at the door, Tony thought he was there so they could make amends. But Tony sees that hadn’t been it at all. He’d come all the way to the door because he was leaving. Yet, Tony was undeserving of a goodbye in the end. 

Tony stays up all night staring at the plans for the HulkBuster drones and wondering if he’s done the right thing. But of course it was easy to build, easy to dumb down Veronica. Tony’s been dumbing down his work, _himself_ , for others since before primary school. And he’d been building Veronica in his mind since the first time he watched Hulk fight. 

But that was before Tony knew the man - Bruce - living within the goliath. The designs for such a suit changed after seeing the good in Dr. Banner. And there was so much good. Too much, perhaps, for such a man to stick around for someone like Tony.

JARVIS is all but whispering as he prods the edges of Tony’s awareness with concern. “Dr. Banner’s phone has gone offline. Should I look into his whereabouts by other means, sir?” 

Tony shakes his head as he shrinks the hologram in his palm and closes his fist as it disappears. “If he wants to go; let him go.”

**⁂**

The first question out of Steve’s mouth is, without fail, a query into the whereabouts of Bruce. 

Drunk off exhaustion and heartache, Tony drags his feet to the kitchen island where he parks himself on a stool. His face lands on his folded arms and he begs Steve not to ask. He admits that he doesn’t know.

_*Ding dong*_

Tony almost doesn’t recognize his own doorbell, so few people use it. 

When Paul walks in, Tony doesn’t have it in him to wonder why Steve would invite him along. He doesn’t get the chance, what with Steve’s endless stream of platitudes of support, encouragement, and consolation. 

It’s Paul who burns the eggs and jams the blender, ruining Steve’s plans for a hangover breakfast so thoroughly that Tony has to snap himself out of his funk to set things right. 

As Paul apologizes and searches for dry cereal in the cabinets, Tony washes the blender for disassembly. He has the motor open in front of him when he realizes that his mind finally has something other than the drones and Bruce’s absence with which to occupy itself.

He makes easy work of his repairs as he instructs Paul to make a pot of oatmeal. “You can’t screw that up, can you? Oats, water, fire?” 

Steve chimes in to apologize for Tony’s short temper, but Paul is laughing. “Thanks, boss, I think I can handle it from here.” 

Tony’s eyes linger on Paul as he fiddles with the knobs of the stovetop. He’s never called Tony anything but Dr. Stark. 

**⁂**

For all the cliches about love Steve keeps lobbing at Tony, it’s Melinda who starts to chip away at Tony’s despair.

“There is no way Banner would leave his research, or the team, in this way.” Melinda says, accepting a cup of tea from Paul with a small nod of thanks. She is hesitant to cite Bruce’s host of misgivings about the Avengers and SHIELD; but once she gets rolling, it’s a doozy. “Regardless of his reservations, he’s stayed.”

“Until now.” Muttering under his breath, Clint wraps the cord of Steve’s headphones around his fingers and holds them like a gun. “Guess he finally pulled the trigger.”

Steve grabs his hand out of the air. “Not helping.”

Paul sends another cup of tea down the long conference table and asks if anyone else would like a drink. 

Tony doesn’t miss it when Steve jerks his thumb over at him and mouths, ‘Not chamomile.’

Paul’s teeth dig into his bottom lip before he admits to Tony, “I took a look at the drones’ program design last night.” 

Everyone’s gaze shifts to Paul, then to Tony.

The water pours from the kettle with a wide cloud of steam. “You’re really giving them over to SHIELD.” He adds a tea bag and enough sugar to put a mouse into a coma, but Tony supposes that without caffeine he’ll have to rely on a sugar rush to keep him awake. 

“Does he know, Dr. Stark?” Paul asks as he hands off the drink. 

Tony’s frown deepens and the knife in his heart twists. For all intents and purposes, it doesn’t matter if Bruce does. Bruce knew SHIELD was going to get what they wanted sooner rather than later. And he’s given himself a running head start. 

Tony takes a long drink, but pretending it’s alcohol does nothing but increase his pain. He knows that despite the changes he’s made in his habits, he’s still not good enough to make Bruce stay. 

“I don’t know,” Melinda says. “I don’t know who or what is keeping Bruce from returning to the Tower, but I can’t believe he’s absent by choice.”

Nat voices her opinion in support of Melinda’s. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Shall we waste time putting this to a vote,” Thor asks. His chair scrapes against the floor as he pushes himself to stand. “Or might we commence search for our brother and friend.” 

Paul blinks at Thor across the room. “You- you think Loki is- is behind this?”

Paul sounds like he’s speaking from the far end of a long tunnel. Tony tugs on his ear to clear the echo.

Thor’s acknowledgement that all of this could be connected to Loki’s schemes cuts in and out. The reflection of lights off his armor shimmers like a golden aura around the god. 

“Well, then,” Steve says, but Tony can’t tell which Steve he’s supposed to look at. The two - no, three - no, two of them look so serious and determined. “Avengers Assemble.”

Tony wobbles on his feet. He reaches out to his captain when he stumbles, but finds nothing in front of him but air. 

**⁂  
** **STEVE**

Steve and the team wait with bated breath to hear news about Tony. 

_“It’s the reactor,” Ebersol had insisted when the others wanted to take him to SHIELD’s infirmary. Ebersol kneeled at Tony’s side and lifted him into his arms. “I can fix this better than they can.”_

_When Steve hesitated to give a response, Ebersol lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “JARVIS. I think it’s time you let the others in on Dr. Stark’s secret. I’ll take him from here.”_

_Ebersol rushed down to the lab, Thor flew off on his quest for answers, and the others congregated in the lounge to wait._

That was two hours ago.

Ebersol had promised to keep them updated, but so far it’s just jibberish from JARVIS that lets them know: Tony is still alive and Ebersol is working frantically to make things right. 

Barton unties and reties the laces that run down the sides of his armored vest. The arrows in his quiver are so well-manicured they may as well be showpieces. “What would Tony be doing right now if this was one of us?” 

“He’d be the one fixing it. Or building some kind of tool for the doctors to use through surgery,” Natasha says. 

Steve admits, “Tony would be freaking out just like the rest of us, but he’d put his nervous energy to better use than sitting around biting his nails to the quick - or sharpening arrows down to the shaft.”

Barton cinches his corset tight, kicks his feet up on the coffee table, and takes out his phone. Natasha shoots Steve a glare. 

“Tony can only survive about 3 minutes without the reactor,” she says. “At the very least, Ebersol must have found some way to stabilize Tony.”

The three try to take comfort in that. But with JARVIS acting just as nervous as any of them, it doesn’t bode well to let their defenses down. 

“Do you need to play your damn video games, right now?” Steve snaps. 

Barton doesn’t look up from his phone. And when Steve tries to snatch it from his hands, Barton skillfully blocks the maneuver. “I’m trying to see where Banner went.”

“We should call him again,” Romanoff suggests, already pulling up his contact information. “Voicemail,” she announces before leaving her message. “Look, I know you're probably halfway to Bumblefuck, New Mexico, right now. But I guarantee there's more interesting alien activity in New York.”

“What’s in Roswell?” Barton asks, not distracted enough by his search through traffic cameras to miss the hint.

Romanoff tucks her phone into her pocket. “He’ll figure it out.”

Steve thinks of Romanoff’s battle against gnomes and ivy. “Your safe house.” 

“If he needs it, it’s there.”

Steve debates calling Ms. Potts next. _But to tell her what?_ She won’t be able to help or do anything but worry herself sick. 

“Maybe she’s heard some news about Dr. Banner.” 

“She would have said something.” 

Steve’s decision is made for him when JARVIS announces Ms. Potts phoning in. 

“Captain Rogers. Steve. I want to thank you for your help. Planning last night’s event and standing in as security… you went above and beyond.”

With his eyes locked on Barton’s for support, Steve tells her it was his pleasure. 

“Did everyone have a good time?”

Her cheery disposition just begs for a lie. Romanoff takes the phone from Steve’s hand without even needing to be asked. He can't keep his voice steady and doesn't trust himself to keep up a charade. 

“I can’t sit here doing nothing,” Steve grumbles as Romanoff greets Ms. Potts softly. 

“You could go for a run.” Barton’s recommendation comes with soft eyes and fidgeting hands. “I could go with you.”

**⁂  
** **NATASHA**

Natasha shoos the men away and waves Melinda in from the hall. 

“How long were you waiting out there?” she whispers with a roll of her eyes. 

Melinda’s shrug is her only answer as she makes a straight line for the couch. 

Following a few paces behind, Natasha asks Pepper, “How much do you really want to know?” 

Pepper’s smile drops from her voice. “If things are bad, all I need to know is that everyone is alive.” 

The company Melinda provides, silent and engrossed in her tablet as she is, is invaluable as Natasha admits to herself that she can’t assure Pepper of Tony’s or Bruce’s safety. “I’ll call you back when I have an answer, OK?”

Pepper sputters and gasps. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… things are bad.”

“You call me.” Pepper says it like a threat. Natasha isn’t scared of anyone, but she winces at the pain in Pepper’s voice.

Steve’s phone clunks against the coffee table where Natasha drops it. At least he’s with Clint - and that guy never goes anywhere without his. 

Natasha sits back on the couch, ready to ask JARVIS for another update on Tony when she catches Melinda’s pinched expression. 

“What?”

“Do you have an ounce of authentic compassion in your body?”

Natasha’s eyes go wide. 

“Her best friend may not make it through the day and _that_ was the best you could do?” 

“What would you have said instead? Lie to her? Tell her everything is fine. Or worse, assure her that everyone is going to come out of this on top?” 

Melinda shakes her head. “If I had your talents, I wouldn’t be sitting in a highrise on the phone. I’d find Banner.”

“I wish it were that easy. We have no idea where to start our search. The only footage we have of Bruce leaving the Tower shows him disappearing around a corner near a small bookshop cafe just a few blocks from the park. Bruce doesn’t reappear on any cameras after that.”

“He couldn’t just disappear. He must have gotten into a car or the subway.” 

“Every car looks suspicious. Every car and none. You think I’m insensitive? Cold?” Natasha huffs. “I haven’t let emotion interfere with a mission, ever. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel.”

Melinda tells her that it’s ok to let emotions motivate her. 

Natasha counters, digging in her heels. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Emotions get people killed. Emotion is what led Bruce into the night, distracted and alone. Emotion kept Tony from telling Bruce he was dying.”

“‘Tasha,” Melinda says in a hush. The sound of her name on Melinda’s lips and the warmth of a hand on her arm is enough to seize Natasha’s racing heart. “Stark isn’t going to die.”

**⁂  
** **MELINDA**

“Let’s go see what’s going on.”

Natasha gestures toward the ceiling with a shake of her head. “Ebersol told JARVIS he needs more time.”

Melinda gives Natasha’s arm a squeeze. “He’s been doing this on his own for long enough. If he needs another pair of hands, another set of eyes, maybe we can help speed things along.”

**⁂**

Stark’s workshop is a flurry of activity. Half a dozen bots zip around the room, in what looks to be aimless patterns. Another few hover over a table where Stark lies on his back.

Melinda and Natasha dodge the robots and join Ebersol at the 3D printer. He launches into an explanation of his progress without prompt.

From what he recounts, Ebersol's quick thinking and rudimentary understanding of arc reactor technology have allowed him to fashion Tony with something temporary. But, even when his life's on the line, Tony - and JARVIS - won’t give up the secrets of the reactor tech. 

Ebersol frets, “It’s like he’s just on the verge of collapse. He wakes up and crashes again.” He rubs his hands over his scalp as he stares at the form taking shape under the printer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This should be working. Why isn’t it working?”

Melinda visits Tony’s tableside next. He’s pale and weak. His lashes flutter. His chest piece glows faintly - fading from blue to green and back to blue again. “He’s waking up.” The effort of consciousness dims the light of his reactor.

Ebersol rushes over, tripping over a bot in his haste. “Shit. Stark! Please. Let me help you. I need access to the reactor files. You know I can fashion you something more appropriate.”

“Use an old model.”

“I don’t… they must have been taken with Banner’s serums.” Ebersol holds a keyboard out like it’s an offering before placing it delicately at Tony’s side. 

Natasha taps Melinda’s shoulder. “I need to make a call,” she says with a little smirk. Within minutes Rogers and Barton are sprinting through the door. 

Stark works from a reclined position. Though he becomes quickly exhausted, Melinda is impressed by his dedication to keeping the reactor technology secret. 

After a while, however, it is clear that reading, typing, and even dictating his plans is putting too much of a strain on him. 

“Just rest,” Melinda says carefully. “Dr. Ebersol and I will take it from here.” 

Natasha wishes her a quick bit of luck, but stays with Steve at Tony’s side. The team apologizes for being at HQ instead of out looking for Bruce. 

“Without a lead, any raid on AIM or HYDRA or _anyone else_ ,” Steve says heavily, “will stir up more trouble.”

Tony gives a dry rasp of understanding. “We can’t afford distractions right now.” He even attempts a laugh. It sounds painful.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul!  
> Melinda  
> Tony  
> more Paul

**⁂  
PAUL**

Barton assures Stark that Thor is well on his way toward finding Loki - and Bruce - when JARVIS sounds an alert. 

“A gamma radiation spike has been detected in Northern New Jersey.”

Paul’s attention snaps to Stark who, in his excitement, has pushed himself to sit upright.

“Hulk,” Stark croaks. Paul guesses it is supposed to be a shout. “I should go.” 

Paul keeps his judgments to himself but to state the obvious. “You can’t go, if you can’t walk.” Even in Stark’s weakened state, with all the animosity between him and Banner, Stark thinks he is the best person to approach Hulk. 

Tony looks down at his reactor’s fading light and nods his head. His reticence is won out by his desperation. “JARVIS. Grant Dr. Paul Ebersol access to the ART gallery.”

Paul watches the tablet screen in his hands flood with files of code and blueprints. It’s even more beautiful than the molecular deconstruction of Dr. Banner’s compounds Paul has saved on a private drive. 

“Don’t let that fall into the wrong hands.” Tony’s warning is more like a beggar’s dying wish. 

Paul stands in awe of the trust Tony has placed in him, the power Tony’s placed in his hands, and the idiocy of the lot of them. He looks up at Tony in time to witness the flicker of his reactor, and bites back a smile. 

Stark is in and out of consciousness as Paul works, but it’s clear Stark’s greater concern is for Banner over himself. Paul is certain Banner’s feelings for Stark run in the same vein. How fitting it is then, that Banner’s own drug was enough to set this all in motion. Of course, Banner couldn’t have predicted Stark would jump in front of the arrow. Couldn’t have predicted the drop of serum in Stark’s bloodstream would cause the reactor to malfunction. But it’s made weakening Stark and stealing his tech so damn easy.

Paul begs the others to leave the room so he can work without distractions. 

The faster he gets Stark up and running again, the faster he can exploit Tony as a weakness in front of Hulk. 

A smile spreads across Paul’s face as he works. He takes delight in the prospect of seeing Hulk pound Stark into smithereens. 

**⁂**

If only Tony had trusted SHIELD with his tech, then he could have enough backup to put up a real fight against Hulk. He could have had an army. 

Instead, Tony has blueprints. Drone shells. And JARVIS. 

It is easy enough to convince Tony to talk him through taking the drone OS offline, when Paul mentions the team’s suspicions that SHIELD may be behind Banner’s disappearance. 

“Thank you, Paul,” Tony says, extending one hand toward his lab assistant while prodding at his new reactor with the other. “We have to get to the Garden State. Where’s the pin on Hulk?”

The door to the workshop opens to reveal Captain Rogers in full supersoldier gear. “JARVIS says you’re up and about. That’s incredible.” With his arms wrapped around Stark, Rogers thanks Paul for his help. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

Paul shrugs his bag over his shoulder and offers a meek smile. “The ART gallery is sealed, Dr. Stark.” 

“J?”

“Confirmed, sir. And, may I say, it’s good to see you on your feet again.” 

Paul warns that Stark is still only strong enough to build his own reactor model. Infusing the palladium with a tincture of Banner’s tranquilizer should keep Stark right where Paul wants him. “There was no way I could do it all without you, Dr. Stark. But what you have in should do you just fine, for the time being.” 

Confident that Stark wears a reactor just powerful enough to keep him convinced of Paul’s loyalty, Ebersol takes the fully-functional, full-powered reactor he built during Tony’s unconsciousness and tucks it into his bag. 

“I’ll be alright. There are more important things to focus on right now.” Stark insists, pulling up a map of the tri-state area. “Hulk is loose.”

JARVIS displays a pin on the radiation spike. “It was just a blip, sir.”

“Worth investigating,” Tony argues.

“Proceed with caution. One wouldn’t want to alert civilians and cause undue panic.” 

Tony nods as he zeros in on the field. “Alert civilians. Cause panic. Gotcha.” He glances over his shoulder and narrows his eyes at Paul. “How are you doing, by the way?”

Paul can feel his hands shaking. He still has to make it past Captain America and JARVIS to get to the Hall of Armor. “I think the stress of everything is finally catching up, y’know?” 

“Well, we can take it from here,” Tony says. “Take a day. You look like you’re about to snap.” 

Paul hitches his bag higher on his shoulder and mumbles his thanks as Rogers lets him pass. 

**⁂  
MELINDA**

“What do you mean you let him leave?” Melinda asks. “No offense, Stark, but you look like you wouldn’t stand up against a stiff wind.”

“I can use a separate arc reactor to power Veronica,” Tony explains. “My own reactor won’t be depleted of any of its energy.”

“What is he talking about?”

Natasha steps forward. “Tony you can’t come out there with us. Not like this; it’s too dangerous.”

Stark crosses his arms over his chest with a smirk. “Danger is my middle name.” The glow that used to escape from under his shirt is muted, a frosty teal instead of blue.

Melinda expected more from Ebersol, especially with his background and the recent months working alongside Stark. Ebersol should have picked up on Stark’s way of thinking, his patterns for design, and have built something better. 

Natasha tries to quell her frustrations. “Don’t underestimate Tony’s genius. And don’t overestimate Ebersol. That guy had the reactor files and still couldn’t build Tony’s design.” 

Melinda harbors doubt. “That seem right to you? He fits Tony with a subpar reactor and bails?”

Barton interrupts, holding up his phone. “No signs of Loki. Thor’s on his way to Jersey. ” 

“Tell him I’m grabbing deodorant,” Stark says as he heads for the door. “Can’t visit America’s armpit without it.” 

Melinda turns to Rogers, understanding his authority in Stark’s absence. “I’d like to stay here. To get updates on the situation from JARVIS.”

With his eyes lingering on the empty doorway, Steve looks resigned to agree to anything at this point. “I don’t see why not.” He takes a deep breath and turns to the center of the room. “The rest of you-” Natasha and Barton look at each other with crooked expressions “-Assemble.” 

**⁂  
** **TONY**

Tony notices immediately that there is something amiss in The Hall of Armor. 

He doesn’t know what to focus on first: the drag marks along the floor, the missing prototypes (prosthetics Paul had built for soldiers who wanted to stay in the military), or the giant empty display case where Veronica should be. 

“Uh, guys?”

“Waitin’ on you, Iron Man.”

“Yeah, quick question. Any of you put on my suit by mistake?”

**⁂**

With the team en route to the Ramapo mountains, Tony types furiously at his computer. His words to JARVIS are furiouser and furiouser. “The only way that asshole could have control over Veronica is with a working reactor _and_ an AI. If he brings her online...” 

JARVIS’s apology doesn’t help. “I am unable to access the HulkBuster operating system-”

“ _Don’t_ call it that,” Tony shouts into the empty room.

“Sorry, sir.” 

“Look, if the best you can do is disarm it or shut it down or blow it the hell up, then do it.” 

JARVIS offers no vote of confidence in their ability to complete any of the tasks Tony’s listed. So, in desperation, Tony turns to Nick.

**⁂**

“I was wondering when you were gonna drag your ass up here.”

Tony sighs. “Tell me you're the kind of bastard who commissions HulkBuster prototypes the same day I hand over the designs.”

“We upgraded the suits and uploaded the software. What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna take one.” Tony pauses a moment in consideration. “Actually, I’m gonna take all of them.” With a tight smile, Tony turns from the room. “And I’m gonna hope that your geniuses in R&D knew what the hell they were doing.”

**⁂**

Tony hangs his head. “They didn’t know what the hell they were doing.” As he feared, the suits are all flash.

Over the comms, Cap suggests, “Maybe that’s all we need. Hang back, set up the prototypes as drones, and send them into the fight as soon as possible.” 

Tony hates the idea of being left behind, but Steve insists that he’ll be of more use to the team if he’s safe and working on the drones from the Tower. 

“Tony,” Cap says after the background noises of the other channels are silenced. “It’s alright to let me take charge for a while. At least until Bruce is back.” 

The blood drains from Tony’s face. “He’s still out there, Steve. Get to him before Veronica does. Please.”

**⁂  
** **PAUL**

With the Veronica HulkBuster separated from JARVIS and affixed with its own AI, Paul uses Stark’s own launch pad to take flight. 

Night is falling upon the city, which is perfect for his plan. The Christmas lights of Times Square can be seen twinkling even from great heights. But Paul doesn’t waste time staring; he must get to New Jersey to let the Hulk loose. 

Despite the bulk of the new suit, its thrusters calibrate themselves for a nearly effortless flight into the mountains. 

**⁂**

Veronica’s blast shakes the bunker as Paul fires a shot at the first of two gamma dampeners on site. Her strong arm rips the bunker’s door off its hinges.

Trapped in a cell below ground, Banner writhes in a weakened, confused state of withdrawal. Deprived of the radiation his body has learned it can’t live without, he suffers. 

When Bruce sees the HulkBuster uniform, however, he perks up. 

“Bruce,” Stark’s voice coaxes Banner into a state of relief. The recordings weren’t hard to find. Banner had hours of surveillance footage bookmarked and sorted. So organized. Efficient. Admirable traits, if they weren’t in a monster.

Still armored up, Paul pulls Bruce to his feet. The way Bruce doubles over in pain is rather pathetic. Veronica’s oversized gauntlet holds out a syringe. “It’s OK,” Stark’s voice soothes.

Stark should be here to see this. For all of Stark’s pissing and moaning, here’s Banner trusting the man so thoroughly that he doesn’t even bother asking what the drug is supposed to do. 

Groggy and ill, Banner injects himself in the thigh. “Gamma dampeners,” Banner explains to the man who built them. “Can you find them? Shut them down?”

“Steve can handle it.”

Paul helps Bruce out of the building and into the open air where the dampeners won’t affect him anymore. Then he says, “You should be feeling more like your old self now,” without bothering to disguise his own voice. 

Tossing Bruce aside, Paul watches his confusion grow into anger. He waits. Any minute now, the drugs will take effect. And Hulk will come out to play.

**⁂**

Veronica zooms under the canopy, taunting, luring, trying to keep just out of Hulk’s reach. 

The drugs are even better than Paul could have imagined. Banner has outdone himself. Sedatives weren’t the only things he concocted. SHIELD’s chemists should be embarrassed. Never before has Paul seen a beast so enraged and disoriented, yet still hellbent on catching its target. 

Paul makes for New York City with Hulk lumbering and stumbling, hot on his heels. 

When they arrive at the water’s edge, however, Hulk stops. Mesmerized by the colorful skyscrapers and blooms of light on the fog, Hulk stares. For a long time, he stares. 

Then, a squad of HulkBuster drones take to the sky over Avengers Tower. Veronica’s HUD counts two dozen heat signatures just visible from across the water. Hulk roars to life again. 

The beast lashes out at the sight of them, swatting this way and that as if at flies in his face. 

_Good_ , Paul thinks, _Hulk’s depth perception is muddled as well._ Hovering just out of Hulk’s peripheral vision, Paul waits for the beast to make his next move.

In a great leap, Hulk launches himself over the Palisades, dragging his hands down the rock until he reaches the shore. Then, he dives into the water and starts to swim.

The beast is on the warpath. Paul fires a repulsor blast at the George Washington Bridge to draw the attention of the Avengers away from the beast, to let him cause as much destruction as he can.

A smile stretches wide across Paul’s face as he watches Hulk’s trajectory. If he stays on course, he’ll hit Rockefeller Center just in time to shut down the lights of the Christmas tree himself. 


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve  
> Tony  
> Natasha  
> more Tony

**⁂  
** **STEVE**

Although the squad of drones swarms Ebersol at the George Washington Bridge, Hulk’s rampage has begun - this one threatening to be more devastating than their last encounter with Abomination. Steve doesn’t have time to hang his head over the comparison.

“SHIELD’s squad can take on the Veronica. That asshole doesn’t know how to handle her.” Tony’s confidence sounds like a bit of a show, but Steve knows better than to ask him to use the weaponized drones on Hulk himself. 

The mission for Hulk, is search and rescue. Finding him is no longer a problem. He sorta brought himself home on his own. Though Steve wishes he would put Chelsea Pier back where it was. 

Rescuing him, however… That’s a whole ‘nother barrel o’ monkeys. 

“Thor, Hawkeye, Widow, leave the bridge to the drones. I got eyes on Hulk leaving the pier. And Tony - if you think you can spare one - send a HulkBuster my way. Just in case.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

That response is clue enough for Steve that his suspicions are correct: Tony is wearing one of Fury’s armors. In Tony’s current state, Steve wants him close. And it doesn’t take a genius to guess that Tony would also like to keep an eye on Hulk.

**⁂**

Dark red veins rise up Hulk’s muscled neck. His eyes are bloodshot and his mouth is set in an unflinching snarl. 

“You wanted to see Hulk out of his mind, Hawkeye?” Tony gripes, threatening to open up old wounds. “This is Hulk out of his mind. I don’t know what that asshole did to the Big Guy, but this ain’t the Hulk we know.” 

Hulk thrashes around at everything and nothing. He appears to be hallucinating or blind. 

No, not blind, he can see the lights. He’s looking at the lights. 

Hulk races for the trees at Bryant Park, cracking the ice skating rink beneath his feet. He tangles himself in the fairy lights for longer than should be possible before he tears the wires and sets himself free. 

Hulk’s lack of coordination gives Hawkeye an idea. “I think I can restrain him. Dr. Banner and I wove nets. Hulk’s getting tangled in anything that hangs. If I can get the-”

“Less talking, more doing, Featherbrain,” Tony shouts. Then, a drone drops down to hover in front of Steve. “Hey, Cap, remember those fireworks you wanted? Try that blinking red button.”

Steve wastes no time racing toward the skating rink. He skids out to center ice, presses said button, sends up his shield like a rocket, and prays for the best. There’s no fireworks, but the sparks shooting off the shield’s edge draw Hulk’s curiosity long enough for Hawkeye to return with the jet. 

An arrow whistles through the air for only a second before bursting into a wide web of black rope. “Widow,” Hawkeye calls over the comms, “you’re up.”

Steve doesn’t even notice her perched on the tree top until the assassin gives her position away with a shout. Flipping in from the perimeter, Widow douses Hulk with a cloud of aerosol poison. But she’s not here to kill. “Should slow him down. Thor, I know we’ve complained you stand too close during take off, but I think we should make an exception tonight.”

A crack of lightning draws Hulk’s attention to the sky before Thor lands at Hulk’s side with a *BOOM*. The ice beneath them splinters, but Thor doesn’t seem to take notice. His Hammer quickly whips up a whirlwind, drawing the oxygen out of the surrounding air and bringing Hulk to his knees. 

SHIELD’s HulkBuster drone watches, unmoving, atop a concession stand. Steve isn’t sure how to read its inactivity.

“Dr. Banner helped develop these strategies to subdue Hulk without hurting him,” Steve reminds Tony, hoping it will bring him some peace of mind. 

“Veronica’s putting up a good fight,” Tony announces with some urgency. The HulkBuster drone, however, hasn’t turned its attention from center ice. 

Feigning ignorance of Tony’s presence in the armor, Steve orders Black Widow, Thor, and Hawkeye to the Quinjet. “I’d like this drone to stay with Hulk, Tony. If you think the fight at the bridge can stand to spare it.” 

In response, the HulkBuster approaches their restrained friend, low and slow. The ice beneath him melts under the thrusters until Tony decides to walk. 

**⁂  
TONY**

Tony watches Hulk struggle, dazed and disoriented under the tangle of rope. Wiping his eyes frantically as if trying to rid them of the sting of Widow’s spray. 

Tony wants to reach out. Wishes he could soothe Hulk with a touch.

“Hey, Big Guy,” he says, taking a small step closer.

At the sound of Tony’s voice, Hulk turns his head. The sudden movement makes him sway.

“It’s alright. It’s gonna be-”

Hulk shouts and swipes at Tony in a fruitless attack. The ropes twist around Hulk’s arm. Tony’s ears ring with the goliath’s anguished cry. He must be agitated by the sight of the armor.  _ And why wouldn’t he be, _ Tony asks himself. But to remove it while Hulk is in such a state would be a risk not even Tony is brazen enough to take.

“Here,” Black Widow says, and Tony wonders what she means. He’s not taking his eyes off of Hulk to look elsewhere. “Take the Kiss.” 

There’s a metallic tap on the HulkBuster’s arm as Widow hands over a canister from her bracelet. “The balm’s strong. After everything he’s been through, it’ll knock him out.”

Tony doesn’t offer Widow thanks. With Hulk beaten and worn, Tony doesn’t know if he owes any of his teammates gratitude, yet. 

Lifting the armor’s faceplate, Tony tries again to assure Hulk that it’s all going to be OK. That he has something nice back home for him. 

Hulk looks at Tony when he mentions home. His big green eyes are glossy with exhaustion - and recognition. When Hulk’s hand reaches out for Tony this time, the movement is slow. Hulk’s palm is turned upward.

Tony spreads the Widow’s Balm over his gauntlet before slipping his hand through the netting and resting it upon Hulk’s extended fingers.

With huffs and puffs of relief, Hulk drops to a seated position on the ground. 

“You want to come home with me, Big Guy?” Tony asks before taking his hand back.

The giant wipes at his face with a grunt. Tony swears that tears fall from Hulk’s eyes. 

**⁂  
NATASHA**

With Ebersol in their custody - and all but one of the HulkBuster drones headed back to SHIELD HQ - Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Steve return to the Tower.

No one is surprised by JARVIS’s announcement that Tony’s lab is empty. 

Melinda meets them on the landing pad with apologies. “I couldn’t stop him. He took a suit.”

Clint pats her shoulder as he passes. “We kinda knew he would.”

Melinda shifts her attention from Clint to Natasha and everything seems to stop for a moment. Natasha knows what she sees: a gash across her cheek, her suit and skin torn at her shoulder, her expression just barely able to mask her fatigue. 

Instead of shying away, Melinda takes another step forward. 

Natasha anticipates the warmth of Melinda’s palm against her weather-worn cheek. There’s hesitancy in Melinda’s reach. She drops her hand but not her gaze. 

“Are you alright?”

Clint pauses by the door to watch the exchange and for the first time Natasha feels a shade of embarrassment at being under her friend’s careful watch. It doesn’t matter. Even if Thor and Steve weren’t pulling Clint out of the room, Melinda attracts all of Natasha’s attention when she starts talking again.

“You always seemed like some kind of super soldier, you know? Invincible or untouchable or-” 

“That’s not so.” 

“Hmm?” 

“You can touch me,” Natasha says in hushed tones. “I’d like it… if you touched me.” 

Natasha has to dig into her training to keep her heart from pounding out of her chest. This being vulnerable thing, putting herself on the line when she can’t punch her way out - she doesn’t like it. 

But Melinda has been stirring up feelings in her for months. Yeah, the feelings were anger and suspicion, at first. However, the woman wasn’t so bad that Natasha wouldn’t save her life. 

Sure, it took some time for Natasha to see Melinda’s contribution to the team, to value her input. But Natasha hadn’t minded that Bruce’s assistant stuck around after work every once in a while. And now… now Natasha hopes she’ll hang about a lot more. 

**⁂  
TONY**

Bringing Hulk up to his apartment takes some ingenuity, but once he’s in, Tony steps back to watch the goliath gather his bearings. There’s a look Hulk sends the team as he lumbers through the open layout of the room. Wonder and awe. Disbelief that breaks Tony’s heart and fills in the cracks. It’s worth the buckled floor of the elevator and the crumbling staircase. It’s worth all that and more. 

The drugs are wearing off, whatever Ebersol gave him and those developed by Bruce for Black Widow. Hulk’s eyes are starting to clear of their fog.

“Welcome home, Big Guy.” Tony can’t hide the strain of emotion from his voice. The encouraging hand on his shoulder tells him he doesn’t have to. 

Although he’s still disoriented, Hulk shuffles over to his bookcase and runs his hand along the shelves. He even shows embarrassment and remorse when he knocks over some of the books. 

Thor is quickest to his side, telling him not to worry, that he’s just tired. “Black Widow administered a dose of medicine for you. It is best to sleep off the effects, my kin.”

“Sleep is good. Hulk’s head hurts.”

They’re the first coherent sentences Tony’s heard Hulk string together -- and the words aren’t garbled or growled. The voice is deep and hoarse, but there is no mistaking that Hulk speaks with understanding. 

Thor is strong enough to shoulder the burden of helping Hulk into his bed. And compassionate enough to ask if Hulk would like to shower before his rest. 

“Hulk sleeps. Bruce showers.”

“Hulk stinks,” Thor argues with a smile.

Hulk lets out a grunt and shoves playfully at the god. Then, his head falls to lay upon the large pillow. “Thor stinks.” 

When Hulk is curled up, soiling the blankets with clothes still polluted with fetid snow and rancid water from the Hudson, Clint approaches the bed with a gift.

“Where did you even find one of those?” Tony grimaces at the sight of the Hawkeye plush.

Natasha chuckles as Clint tucks the toy under Hulk’s muddied arm. “He had it custom made.”

Hulk frowns and hugs it to his muddied chest. 

Despite himself, Tony cringes. “Well, that’s getting incinerated. ASAP.” 

“Good idea.”

“Came from my brain, Thor," Tony snarks, "by definition, it would be.”

“Hmph.” Thor rips a corner from the blanket under Hulk and Tony squeaks in protest. A bedspread fit for a behemoth isn’t exactly something one can pick up at the mall. 

His expression softens, however, when Thor uses the fabric to wipe soot and sweat from Hulk’s face. 

“I’ll bring a replica of Mjolnir, shall I?” Thor offers gently, dabbing at Hulk’s softening expression. “Much better at fending off bad dreams.” 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce  
> Tony  
> (explicit)  
> more Bruce  
> more Tony

**⁂  
BRUCE**

Dwarfed and stunned, there’s maybe an hour where all Bruce does is sit up in the sweaty, stinking bed and stare, trying to make sense of it all. He doesn't notice Thor coming into the room until the push cart of pancakes stops short and a bucket of syrup topples onto the ground.

"Banner!" Thor greets him like his presence is the surprise. "I’ll retrieve Stark."

"Wait." Bruce rubs the last of sleep from his eyes. He won’t let Thor leave without an explanation of the room. "How long has this been here? Why had no one told me about it?"

"T’was intended to be offered as a gift. At Christmas. To Hulk." 

Thor shares with Bruce how uncertain they all were regarding Bruce's desire to find a way to get rid of their giant companion. 

"I believe Stark was concerned such a display of affection for Hulk would influence you. Indeed the decision to live with Hulk has to be yours. But it is time you see we've already made our choice. He’s part of our family. As are you." 

“Thank you.” Bruce extends his gratitude for the relationship the young god has built with Hulk, for his work helping everyone - including Bruce himself - understand Hulk is more than a beast of rage. 

Thor accepts the thanks casually and passes along the information that Hulk refused to shower, alluding that it was Banner’s job to maintain their hygiene. 

“That would explain the stink.” 

Bruce feels Hulk quip in response, _ Thor stinks, _ and lets the laughter bounce from his chest to his lips. 

“I’ll get Stark, now. He’ll be most delighted that you’re back.”

**⁂**

Tony’s footsteps are quick through the hall until they slow at the door. 

Bruce’s anxiety builds with the anticipation of facing Tony again. 

He pushes himself off the bed, the movement granting him a waft of his own body odor and he almost gags. He should have asked Thor to give him time to bathe. 

But then he sees Tony dressed in the first style of armor he ever knew him to wear - a sharp suit and a tight grin. Tony leans his shoulder on the doorjamb, nervous, but crosses his ankles like he has all the time in the world. Like it doesn’t matter one tick that Bruce had gone without a goodbye. That he’d been abducted, drugged, and come close to killing all of them that could be killed. 

Bruce is grateful. There will be time to unpack all of that later. 

“I see that beauty sleep did you some good.”

Bruce doesn’t need to look down at himself to feel the grime encrusting his skin. “You calling me handsome?” 

Tony’s smile falters as he straightens himself up, and he gives a tentative nod. 

“You saying you want a piece of this?” Bruce wants to laugh at his filth versus Tony’s elegance. But Tony is coming toward him with bold steps and bright eyes, and Bruce is suddenly breathless.

Bruce raises a hand to caress Tony’s cheek and a memory of the river plays behind his eyes. Knowing the Health Department refuses to say if the water quality is actually safe for swimming, Bruce drops his hand. 

“That suit looks good on you,” he says when Tony pouts. “But it’d look better on the bathroom floor.’ 

_ Hulk’s room. Hulk’s floor.  _ Disapproval colors the voice in the shadows of Bruce’s mind. 

Bruce thinks Hulk is right, the things he wants to do with Tony - to Tony - are best done in the privacy of his own apartment. Hulk’s space should be his alone. 

**⁂**

Tony says he doesn’t want to talk about it, but Tony can’t stop talking anyway. He asks Bruce what he thinks about the room. He apologizes for the secrets, the fighting, for assuming Bruce had run off, for not finding him sooner. 

“Stop.” Bruce says the word and Tony freezes. 

With a towel draped around his shoulders and his body bare, Bruce orders Tony to stand for inspection. There’s been a mission. Bruce needs to examine Tony for injuries, assuage his worries before they go any further. 

**⁂  
TONY**

Bruce touches his wrist, and Tony gasps. It's a soft brush of fingertips. Tony’s back arches at the sudden contact. Bruce doesn’t hold him down against the mattress, but Tony’s arms remain as immobile as if they were pinned. 

Bruce turns his hand, the caress of his knuckles is warm and smooth over the sensitive skin of Tony's arm. The hand moves up until Bruce lays his palm around the curve of Tony's shoulder.

"Breathe, meu amor. Let go. I've got you." Bruce's fingers walk down Tony's chest to trace the curved edge of his reactor. "Always." 

Reaching up with his free hand, Bruce pets and combs Tony's hair. He traces his thumb along the curve of his ear, along the side of his jaw. 

The kiss Bruce presses to Tony's temple is deliberate and lingering. Tony's eyelids close and his breathing slows as time comes to a standstill. 

"That's it, love. Good boy," Bruce praises as Tony holds still under the exploratory touch. "Breathe, darling. Breathe with me."

Tony's heart is already beating fast. But he's safe. With Bruce he's always safe. 

The encouraging, soothing whispers continue. Bruce's lips flutter over Tony's skin as his mouth moves down his neck. Up and down his chest, Bruce's fingers draw their trail in a regular rhythm. 

Lying with Bruce is good. He's solid and warm, always warm. And Tony has been feeling so cold. So tired. Bruce nuzzles Tony's stomach and a gentle fuzzy tingling raises goosebumps on his skin. He could fall asleep like this, Tony thinks. 

But then Bruce's teeth graze his hip, eliciting sparks in his veins and fireworks behind his eyes.

Bruce bites and sucks and kisses Tony's hip all while his hands stroke his sides. "Breathe," Bruce reminds Tony between his own moans.

**⁂**

Bruce calls him, “Mine,” as Tony arches beneath him. “Mine,” he repeats, reassures. “Always so good for me. A perfeição. Meu coração.” His endearments continue even as his babbles dissolve into incoherence. 

“Bruce.” Tony gasps. “Baby.” He claws at Bruce’s shoulders. He locks his ankles around Bruce’s hips, pulling him deep. They’re so close Bruce is no longer thrusting. The pulse of his cock is enough to keep Tony writhing through waves of pleasure. “Bruce.” 

Tony chants his name as his knees tremble, weak.

“I’ve got you.” Bruce is slick with sweat; his muscles tense as Tony's face presses into his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

No matter how tightly Tony holds on, it feels like he is falling. He’s slipping away. 

But Bruce says, “I’ve got you,” so fiercely Tony believes him. Bruce says “love” like he coined the word.

**⁂  
BRUCE**

There is no way Bruce can match the gift of Hulk’s apartment, but he has a few holiday traditions he’s always wanted to try. And if he can bring some cheer to the Tower after the months of discord, all the more reason to give into the Christmas spirit.

It’s already the night before Christmas Eve when Bruce walks in to see Tony digging into the boxes he’s had delivered from the Hogan’s attic. Though Pepper didn’t think the trains and village figurines were appropriate for the Winter Ball itself, she is more than happy to provide the decorations for Tony and the gang. 

**⁂**

Steve’s face softens and lights up at the sight of the trains chugging through the Christmas village set up in the middle of their living room. 

Bruce shrugs like it was nothing, but Steve touches the village and trains reverently - antiques for the present, but decorations that would have been displayed in storefront windows back when the displaced soldier was young. 

Bruce doesn’t see Steve leave the common room, but when he seeks him out again, Steve is sitting cross-legged with his pencil and pad. One ear-bud in with the other tucked into his shirt. He has a quiet air about him as he draws - more than his lack of words. Even Clint appears wary of disturbing him tonight. 

Bruce follows Steve’s eyeline to try to match the reference lines on the page to a building in the village, but the only windows overlooking the frozen lake at the end of the table are those of the cathedral. It seems Steve is pulling this picture from memory. Bruce lets him be.

**⁂  
** **TONY**

When Tony comes back from meeting with the contractors working to fortify the elevators and stairs, there is music playing in the lounge. Old records; his grandfather's, Tony guesses. 

Tony watches his feet as he tiptoes over extension cords, not stopping to question where they came from or why they are tangled over the floor. Gingerly, he makes his way down the steps to the lounge. 

There Bruce kneels at an open box, his head minutely tipping side to side. He mouths the lyrics as The 12 Days of Christmas comes to its end. 

The corner of Tony’s mouth quirks as he watches fondly.

“You look good in lavender.” It’s not the first time Tony’s said so, but each time he sees Bruce in the color he feels the need to comment.

“I've been told it complements the green.” 

Tony hums recalling how little of Bruce's clothes remain during a transformation. How infrequently he sees unsullied fabric against the color of Hulk’s skin. 

Tony wonders if he could find a tailor willing to design outfits suitable for the big guy. He muses Jolly Green might not be so receptive to the confines of a three piece suit, but hey, it's not like anyone has asked. 

Nonetheless, a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt would be more comfortable than cut offs sized for Bruce, especially if Hulk ever chooses to hang around for long enough to make use of his room. 

It takes a moment for Tony to get past how cute Bruce looks lit up by the tangle of white string lights, but when his hyper focus on the man relaxes, and the rest of the room comes into view, Tony’s eyes go wide. 

Blue spruce trees stand tall at opposite ends of the fireplace, having been delivered in his absence. The larger of the two is decorated from the bow on top to the white, red, and gold tree skirt at its base. Lights and Christmas balls are evenly, meticulously, spaced among the branches. It is simple, rather elegant, in its lack of clutter. It's not gaudy or showy like the trees Tony was used to rolling his eyes at in passing. 

“Did you do this?” Tony asks in awe. He stuffs his hands deep in his pockets and steps through Bruce's minefield of decorations. 

“I, uh, do you mind?” Bruce is second-guessing himself. Tony hates when he sounds insecure. “I wasn't sure how you wanted to do it. I was reading up on some traditions. There are some families who trick their kids into believing Santa decorates the tree on Christmas Eve when he's there putting out presents.” 

Tony remembers that Bruce has never had a Christmas. His expression softens and his heart swells at Bruce’s effort. 

“I mean,” Bruce clarifies, “I thought it might be a pleasant surprise for you - my doing one while you were out. But maybe we can finish this together?” 

“Yep.” Tony joins Bruce, crouched at the line of open boxes. “I'd like to help.” Tony frowns at Bruce's sunken cheeks, knowing he's chewing the inside of his mouth. 

“It's beautiful, Bruce,” Tony tries again. “Thank you.” His heart skips at the sight of Bruce's eyes peeking up at him through thick lashes. Tony doubts the rosy color rising in his cheeks is from the fire. 

“So,” Tony says, “red and gold, huh?” 

“Shockingly, I did find Arc Reactor blue ornaments.” Bruce points to a bag on the sofa. “Don't know if you want the reminder.” 

Tony hides his face as he swallows hard. No, he doesn’t need a reminder of the chest piece that keeps him alive, the tech that almost failed him. “I think there's a nice balance,” he says, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “The green and red. They go well together.” Tony brings himself to his feet to help Bruce with a new string of lights.

“I've heard you say that before.” Instead of reaching for the decoration, Bruce’s hands gather Tony’s shirt at his waist.

“And what do you think?” Tony asks. “Green. And red.”

“I think, yeah.” Bruce pulls Tony against him and Tony keens. Even though they woke in each other’s arms, it feels like ages since they’ve been close. Tony wants to lasso Bruce in the strand of lights and keep him like this for a long, long time. 

Then Bruce says, “I think I can see the balance here,” and nudges Tony’s nose with his own. Bruce whispers, “Darling,” and hums in contentment as their foreheads rest against each other. Bruce says, “love,” and fits his lips against Tony’s, and the world falls away.

**⁂**

It isn’t long before a throat clears across the room announcing their company. 

Natasha saunters over with a shopping bag and a smile. “The others will be here soon. I trust you’ll have made yourselves decent by then.”

Bruce’s hands are careful of Tony’s chest as he does up the buttons of his shirt. Regardless of Nat hovering near, Bruce stops halfway. His lips are soft on the sore and sensitive scars around Tony’s newest reactor. Tony holds him in place just a moment longer to savor the warmth of his kiss.

**⁂**

“It’s tradition for the person who opens the star box to find their way up to place it atop the tree.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes at Clint. “No such tradition has been established. It’s our first Christmas.”

“I’m just saying… maybe we don’t let Thor open the box. It’s a long way up, and if that hammer gets involved, all of our hard work will come undone.”

Tony snakes his arms around Bruce’s middle. “You know, gals and pals, I think maybe I know someone who could help us out here. That is, if he wants to come out and play.”

The enthusiastic support of their friends brings an olive flush to Bruce’s cheeks and Tony has never been as charmed by his partner’s smile. 

Tony ducks the rest of the way under Bruce’s arm and lifts the glasses from his face. With a kiss, Tony whispers, “I’ll see you soon.” 

**⁂**

With some prompting, instruction, and a whole lot of patience from the team, Hulk puts on the star. 

“You want some cocoa, Big Guy. I think you’ll like it.”

“Try this,” Thor booms as he thrusts a small barrel of Asgardian ale into Hulk’s arms. “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Hulk tosses the drink aside in favor of shoving Thor to the ground. 

“Hey, hey!” Steve shouts as the two rough-house in the common area. “Mind the tree. Mind the trains! HULK! NO FIRE!”

Clint watches the wrestling match, wincing at every crash and bang. “Still think all your ideas are good ones.”

Tony notices Clint watching Steve referee and lifts an eyebrow at the twinkle in Clint’s eyes. “You having fun?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then I’d say it was genius.” 

After a particularly loud crash by the fireplace, Tony thinks that maybe having a fire extinguisher ready would be genius-er. 

_ *BANG* _

“THOR!”

Just in case.

**⁂**

When it looks like Thor and Hulk have learned the boundaries of the room, Steve plops himself onto the couch beside Tony. As if he’d been waiting for his cue, Clint pops in to take up a perch on the armrest at Steve’s side.

Tony grins knowingly, remembering when he was too nervous to admit his feelings for Bruce. When he was so scared of pushing Bruce away that all he could do was keep himself close. 

“Is there anymore of that cocoa left?” Steve asks. It’s a question so pointed at Clint and his eagerness to please that Tony can’t hold back a chuff of laughter when their friend leaps to his feet again. 

Taking care of himself, Steve, and Tony, Clint returns with three hot cups. Tony’s heart breaks for Clint when Steve tries to wave him away with a scowl. 

“No, I can’t stand whipped cream.”

Much to Tony’s surprise, Clint isn’t put off. Though he gives a small hum of disbelief, Clint appears unfazed. He hands off Tony’s mug and sneaks a second onto the coffee table among the Christmas village. Then, Clint brings the third cup to his lips and with a smirk, licks the cocoa clean of its tower of cream. 

Steve accepts the ‘corrected’ drink without a word or a sneer.

Tony rolls his eyes.

Clint beams. 

**⁂**

Clint is on the armrest again, this time with his feet tucked between Steve’s thighs, when Thor gives a yelp from across the room. Apparently even a god has trouble breathing under the weight of a giant’s foot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meu amor. (My love)  
> Você é perfeição. Meu coração. (You are perfection. My heart.)


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony  
> Steve  
> Natasha  
> more Tony  
> Bruce

**⁂  
** **TONY**

The apartment looks different in the light of Christmas morning. Big. Really big. And clean… thank all that is good and sacred.

The last time Bruce had been in here, it had smelled like a sewer and he had felt like he’d just crawled out of a swamp.

“You did all this for Hulk?” 

Tony shrugs, nods. He knows this is a big deal. He can feel it in the change of the air between them, in the weight Bruce lays upon his words. 

Bruce runs his hand along the large bookshelf. Takes in the rows of books Tony had printed in oversized bindings for Hulk’s fumbling hands. “Thank you.”

“I did good?” Tony can’t help himself. His need for approval settles over him in a full body itch. 

The way Bruce speaks his name is the most soothing salve. “Anthony.” Bruce takes him by the hand and pulls him in. The kiss they share is one not of passion or desperation. It’s slow and easy pressure; it’s gratitude - for being understood, accepted, loved. 

“Do you think he’ll like it? The first time we brought him here, he wasn’t really in the right mindset to-”

Bruce silences Tony with a peck. He cradles Tony’s face in his hands and gives him another. His voice is dark and his eyes are light when he says, “I do.”

**⁂  
STEVE**

“These are so cool!” Clint exclaims as he digs through the stockings hung on the mantle. With his hands full of amigurumi Avengers, Clint heads to the village display. “Who made these?”

A glance at Bruce would answer Clint’s question. Steve doubts Tony would ever consider wearing the hat Bruce is fitting him with if it weren’t made by him. But Clint is so enraptured by the details of the crocheted versions of his friends that he doesn’t bother looking up. 

Little Hawkeye hops along the rooftops until Clint’s oversized sweater catches the steeple of the cathedral and sends it crashing into the main square.

Steve has to hold himself back from chastising Clint for splitting Pleasantville’s town sign and collapsing the roof of Pop’s Soda Shoppe. They’re only _things_ and the sheer delight Clint derives from setting up Avengers around the town is worth more than a few chips on priceless antiques. 

Even Thor can appreciate Clint’s hobby. It becomes the main event of his video chat with Jane for a few minutes before the couple solidify their plans for New Year’s Eve. 

**⁂  
NATASHA**

Natasha enjoys the uninterrupted time with Melinda while the others are distracted. Mel’s laugh is hearty and her blush turns her face a berry-red - nose to ears. 

They spend time fussing over eggnog that no one drinks and trying to guess who is who of the gingerbread figures Tony and Bruce made the day before. It is clear that (for some mysterious reason) the men ran out of icing halfway through. There seems to have been some attempt at an army of generic ginger persons, but most of the cutouts lay sans icing. 

When Melinda catches Natasha under the mistletoe it’s less coincidence than either of them care to admit. 

“Guess we don't really have a tradition for this yet either,” Natasha says with a glance at the sprig of leaves and berries. “What's the common one?” 

Melinda presses her full lips together and Natasha’s mouth curls into a smile. “I think it's a-” 

Natasha cuts Melinda off with a brief kiss on the lips. Melinda’s face flushes in that brilliant way that begs to warm cold hands in winter.

“Did I get that right?” Natasha asks, staying close and sucking on her bottom lip. 

Melinda slips her arms around Natasha's waist and ducks into her shoulder. She nods and in a whisper requests company by the fire. 

**⁂  
TONY**

The smell of evergreen boughs and warm gingerbread, the crackle of old records playing overhead, and the low, relaxed chatter of friends fill the living room. 

Tony leans back against Bruce’s legs as the others make merry. It’s a soft brand of holiday cheer, one of festivities subdued by exhaustion and the gravity of their work. Carrying the weight of the world’s safety upon their shoulders bends their backs and weighs on their minds as they prepare to say goodnight and farewell to their first Christmas together. But everyone wears a smile - and a bit of ridiculous holiday spirit.

Clint sits perched upon an armrest trading spiced rum with Thor, both sporting a matched set of elf hats. Steve has donned a pair of reindeer antlers while Tony’s pair lies forgotten on the couch behind him in favor of the forest green beanie Bruce had made him. Natasha and Melinda seem to be in competition for the ugliest Christmas sweaters they could find. And to round out the Christmas casual attire (that had been deemed a requirement by Tony’s invitation), Bruce had been persuaded to wear a more traditional Santa hat.

**⁂**

When the festivities die down and all other company has departed, Tony finds himself mesmerized by the fire. It takes Bruce raking his fingers through his hair to coax Tony from his daydream. 

“We should tidy up,” Bruce says. His gentle authority stirs Tony to action despite the lead in his limbs. 

**⁂**

After the room is clear of food and drink, it looks like Bruce is angling for the stairs. Tony reaches out. All it takes is the soft brush of Tony’s fingertips over Bruce’s waist to stop him in his tracks. “We’re not through,” Tony says. Carefully, he tugs Bruce toward the tree. 

Bruce receives the box Tony hands him with hesitation and Tony wonders if Bruce remembers what Happy had said that night at dinner. That night feels like ages ago; Tony wouldn’t blame him for forgetting. But Happy’s words had stuck with him. _The best gifts come in the smallest packages._

“Would you like me to open this now or…”

“Maybe on the balcony. I know it’s cold, but…” 

There are still ugly sweaters in a pile on the sofa. Bruce takes one and offers a second to Tony. When Tony wrings his hands instead of accepting the sweater, Bruce’s eyebrow lifts at the challenge to his unspoken instruction. 

“You’ll keep me warm,” Tony explains. Bruce’s core runs so hot Tony knows that once he’s in his arms, there will be no need for extra layers. Even so, Bruce trades the sweater in his hand for a wool throw blanket and wraps it around Tony’s shoulders like a shawl. 

Getting settled at the small table on the balcony takes almost no time at all. They fall into their easy routine, no need to work out who sits where or how to position the chairs to most easily lean into each other and share the blanket. 

Bruce tucks Tony snugly under his arm before opening the box in his lap with his free hand. Seated in a case of glass, Bruce finds Tony’s reactor on display.

“What- Is this the one Paul poisoned?”

“No! God, Bruce… No.” Tony shakes his head, places the box on the table, and takes Bruce’s hand in his. “Pepper gave me this back when…” Tony doesn’t want to get into it. He doesn’t want the reminder that this thing that gives him life is also a weakness; he doesn’t want to explain that failures were a pattern even before Bruce’s serum and Ebersol’s schemes came into play. Those are conversations for another time. 

“It’s one of the first reactors I used. It was Pepper’s joke. A reminder. ‘Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.’”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches up with the hint of a smile.

“My heart belongs to you.” At Tony’s words Bruce’s eyes meet his. “You were- You _are_ the only one who can fix it.”

“I’m the one who broke it.”

Tony slips his arms around Bruce’s waist, pulling their bodies together until his head is nuzzled under Bruce’s chin. Bruce lets out a gasp as Tony’s icy palms sneak under his shirts to lie flat over his ribs.

“Just don’t do it again.”

**⁂  
TONY**

Bruce and Tony enjoy their first New Year’s Eve together in a quiet corner on the rooftop of Avengers Tower. 

With Bruce’s arms wrapped around Tony from behind, he kisses Tony’s neck. “You have to eat, mi amor.” His arms cinch around Tony’s waist. “But be mindful of what you drink, OK?” Bruce’s whisper is heavy with intention as he explains, “I have big plans for tonight.”

Tony leans into Bruce as his stubble tickles his neck. Bruce has nothing to worry about. It’s true, nerves for Times Square’s Ball Drop have Tony’s stomach twisted and his appetite all but nonexistent, but he has no desire for drink. All Tony needs to stay grounded, is this. 

Tony rests against the solid warmth of Bruce against his back. He tests the strength of Bruce’s hold just to feel Bruce’s arms tighten their grip. 

Bruce’s breath tickles Tony’s neck as the city below counts down to one. 

“Happy New Year.”

The first rockets explode over their heads. If Bruce flinches, Tony will feel it. If Bruce’s heart rate triggers even the faintest alarm on his pulsometer, Tony will hear it. 

Tony turns to see Bruce watching the light show in silent awe. He marvels at the way Bruce’s eyes catch the reflection of the fireworks; they seem to hold flecks of green longer than the other colors. 

The fireworks cast their colorful light over Bruce’s features and Tony can’t help but kiss his cheek. As Bruce turns, Tony notices the sunburst of green coming through the brown of Bruce’s eyes and he smiles at the mossy change. It’s becoming a regular occurence, Hulk’s conscious presence. 

“Hey Big Guy.” 

Instead of requesting a midnight kiss, Tony intertwines his fingers with Bruce’s and draws his thumb in a line between their palms. The caress has Bruce pulling Tony close with a strength Bruce doesn’t typically display. 

Tony presses his face into Bruce’s neck, hiding his widening grin as Hulk’s enthusiasm for Tony’s companionship shines through.

Bruce’s free hand comes up to stroke Tony’s face, a light brush of knuckles along his jaw. “You OK?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry, he’s a little-”

“It’s fine. Is he scared?”

“Not with you here,” Bruce says before amending, “Us…” A curious smile, a dumbfounded expression creeps into Bruce’s features. “Not with us.”

**⁂  
** **BRUCE**

It’s the alarm from Headquarters, not the pulsometer, that has Bruce sprinting in from the balcony with Tony hot on his heels. The rest of the team is already in the lounge, arranged in a semicircle around a holographic display. 

A cascading shimmer of blue and gold, Director Fury’s hologram relays his urgent message: “ _They’re back.”_

Without taking a second to process the news, Thor stands. Steve pushes Clint off of his lap. Natasha kisses Melinda goodbye. And Bruce slides his glasses off of his nose. 

He’s gotten used to Tony holding onto them. He enjoys the ritual of accepting them back when he feels more like himself again. It doesn’t bother Bruce that Tony doesn’t let people hand him things. Bruce has hang-ups of his own. So, Bruce extends his reach to place his glasses on the table at Tony’s side. Tony will know what it means.

But it’s not the tabletop meeting Bruce’s hand mid-reach. 

Tony holds out his hand - palm up, patient - until Bruce places the glasses on it. 

“I’ll keep these safe until you get back.” Tony hangs the glasses off his shirt collar and his smile is clever and shy, both at once. "See you out there, Big Guy."

Bruce feels Hulk shift within him, knows by the delight in Tony's expression that his eyes have started their change from brown to hazel to green. His voice is like a soft roll of thunder as he leans in close to Tony's ear. "Don't keep me waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that caught this and those that didn't, the Melinda Leucenstern and Paul "Fixer" Ebersol of this fic are meant to be AU versions of characters of the same name/general function in the comic books.
> 
> -
> 
> To Kat: I don't know if this is reminiscent of the gift you imagined you'd receive when you asked for a case fic featuring a D/s relationship and a side of holiday fluff, but I hope with all of my heart that you enjoyed it. 
> 
> And to all of my readers: Thank you. Thank you for reading and for the feedback you've given through kudos and comments.  
> As a writer, this has been my greatest undertaking, by far, and it has been my pleasure to share it with you.


End file.
